


Sins of the Daughter - Part 1

by M_A_C



Category: Blue Bloods (TV), Scandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Multi, Police, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 95,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_A_C/pseuds/M_A_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tessa Reagan is a crisis manager running her own firm that is dedicated to fixing problems and crises; protecting and guarding public images and reputations; and solving certain crimes in her clients' interest. It's her that the people with the most to lose turn to. She's often at odds with her blue blooded family, but it never changes what Frank's always taught her - "Trust your gut".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Graduation

**UNMARKED WAREHOUSE**

**THURSDAY EVENING**

            Tessa Reagan’s confidant stance was a bluff. She was nervous and anxious and downright upset that she was pulled away from her little brother’s graduation party. The party was going well, Tessa and her sister Erin were doing shots, when Gabriel Short walked in with an emergency. Tessa apologized profusely as she hurried out the door, Gabriel keeping her steady by holding her elbow as she slipped into her heels. Her older brother Danny had already been called away on a case as soon as Jamie graduated. Being on call 24/7 whether being a lawyer or a cop was a hazard in the Reagan family.

            Her father, Police Commissioner Frank Reagan, patriarch of the blue blooded family, covertly handed Gabriel a full pack of mints while telling him to drive safely.

           The emergency they were heading to, like some of the situations she handled, meant she had to be in close proximity to big men with big guns wanting big money. But unlike brothers or father would’ve, she didn’t need to match their force, she only needed to talk her way into getting what her client wants.

           Tessa wasn’t a cop or a crook, she was a fixer.

           The only problem with her job was that she only had the precious few seconds it would take for this rickety elevator to climb to floor six to come up with a plan. Last minute change in plans where never good for perfect plans.

            Gabriel Short, Tessa’s partner, pulled down the elevator cage doors behind him. He leaned passed Tessa to hit the round button for floor six. The faint glow pulsated as the elevator slowly rose. She glanced over at him, catching his eye.

            Gabriel stood tall five-foot-eleven, the upturned collar of his navy floor-length Belstaff 'Milford' coat adding to the appearance of height. His strong square jaw and prominent cheekbones were striking, yet overall not over-bearingly handsome. His black hair was combed back in a dapper fashion – a modern take on the Don Draper hair but with added volume. His eyes, concealed behind thick, black Clark Kent-esque glasses, were the clearest of grey with small flecks of brown. He was _very_ Rob Lowe.

            Tess stood nearly at eye-height with him when she wore her heels. She was athletically slender with an acceptable bust that men had no problem with. Her face was oval shaped and beautiful in the extreme, her every feature was finely chiseled and delicate. Her eyes were large and the color of Freedman blue. Her head was overcome by a mass of chestnut hair, waving hair, caught loosely into a strange, intricate braid than ran to the middle of her back. Her skin was Irish cream fair against which the crimson glow of her cheeks and the ruby of her beautifully molded lips shone with a strangely enhancing effect.

            “We’re going to get killed,” Gabriel broke the silence.

            Tessa quickly changed the subject to keep from thinking about what was to happen when the elevator doors opened up. The dissipating alcohol in her system helped some. “How was the pre-anniversary dinner? You said you were going to propose again.”

            “Dinner was lovely, thank you.” He turned to her and fiercely repeated, “We’re going to get killed. We’re three million dollars short.” He held up the leather over-night bag he held in his hands for emphasis.

            “So you flaked on the proposal?” She asked incredulously. Since falling in love with The West Wing years ago, it’s been a secret goal of her to master the walk-n-talk as well as carry on two conversations simultaneously. She was happy to report she could do both. She turned to face him fully. “Why are we short?”

            “I did not flake, I’m working for you. I’ll propose again on our actual anniversary.” Gabriel turned to face her as well. “The ambassador couldn’t come up with the rest; which is a problem. A very big problem. Which is why we shouldn’t even be going up there in the first place.”

            Tessa reached out and began fixing Gabriel’s maroon tie. Gabriel lifted his head to give her more room to work. “Don’t worry, they’ll take what we give them. And did you at least buy the second engagement ring?”

            “We have bigger things to worry about than me not re-proposing to Chris. Ukrainian mobsters do not take what you give them. They just shoot you.” Gabriel lowered his head once Tessa was done and turned to face the door. The elevator was crawling to a stop. “We have a situation here. Focus.” The doors parted for them and Gabriel turned to look at Tessa one last time. “Do what you do.”

            With those encouraging words, Tessa sucked in a deep breath before confidently strutting past Gabriel and into the center of the room where two men dressed sharply in suits – one black and one grey - stood with a wooden workbench between them. A brown cardboard packing box was placed on top.

            “Добрий вечір , панове, ( _good evening, gentlemen),”_ Tessa greeted them.

            “Чи є у вас гроші? ( _Do you have the money?)”_ The man in the grey suit asked as he stepped forward.

           “Да ( _Yes_ ),” She stopped perhaps two feet away from the mobster, signaling for Gabriel to stop much farther back. “Bсе три мільйони. ( _All three million_ ).”

           “Ve said seex,” The man in the grey suit said in English through his heavy accent.

           “Did we?” Tessa asked, feigning confusion.

           “Ve did!” The man in the grey suit shouted, slamming his hand down on the table.

           Tessa held out her hand and Gabriel place the leather over-night bag in her hand. She then handed it to the man in the grey suit.

            “All we have is three.”

            “Zat is a problem.” He warned her, pointing his finger. He placed the bag down on the table and opened it up to inspect the money. All neatly-banded, untraceable one-hundred dollar bills.

           “That is all the ambassador had on short notice,” she countered coolly, “so you are going to have to accept that.”

            The man in the black suit stepped forward, pulling back his coat to reveal the silver gun attached to his hip. He drew his gun from its holster and held it in front of him casually. Concerned, Gabriel walked up to Tessa, placing a steady hand on her arm.

            Either her alcohol buzz or her false bravado were going to get them killed.

           “Ven you com back vith ze other tree, zen ve vill ‘ave a deal.” The man in the grey suit smugly drummed his chubby fingers against the leather bag. “In fact, bring back five. Count this as compensation….for time wasted.”

            Then gun was meant as a warning; Tessa, however, took it as a challenge. Under this pressure, she appeared completely unafraid. There was a look to her stare that made the mobster feel uneasy for no reason he could explain. She cocked her eyebrow.

            “That’s not going to happen.”

           “No?”

            “Нет!” She assertively took a step forward. “What's going to happen is you and Vlad over there are going to take the three million and leave right now for JFK to make your flight to the motherland. The reason you're going to want to go right now, beside the fact that it's just good travel sense to give yourself enough time for international check-in, because in exactly,” She glanced down at her watch sarcastically to make her point, “4 hours and 15 minutes both of your names are going to suddenly ‘ _pop up’_ on homeland security's no-fly list.” She took another step forward and smiled with false reassurance. “Lucky for you, you're booked on a flight that leaves in two and a half hours, so if it were me, I'd much rather spend $3 million in Kiev than here in New York _. Way more_ bang for your buck. In fact, it may even feel like $6 once you're there.”

            After her tirade, she stood unwavering in front of the grey-suited mobster that smelled like clam chowder and cheap hookers. She could almost see the perspiration working its way on his brow line. He deliberated a moment longer before slowly walking back to the leather bag. Tessa kept her eyes on him while Gabriel and the man in the black suit locked eyes. The man in the grey suit loudly zipped the bag closed and snapped his fingers at the man in the black suit.

            “Good boys,” Tessa praised sarcastically as if she were speaking to dogs. As she walked up to the cardboard box on the workbench she said, “Since we have a deal, I’ll take what we came for.”

            She opened the cardboard box and carefully picked up what was inside – an infant boy wrapped in soft blue blankets with the initials V.M embroidered on it. She cradled him gently against her chest and walked away.

            “Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen. I thank you, our client thanks you, and we hope to never see you again.” Gabriel closed the hostile meeting before quickly following Tessa back into the elevator.

            On the way down, the infant boy gurgled and squirmed in Tessa’s arms. She smiled warmly down at him, stroking his chest with her finger. She looked up and saw Gabriel starring at her.

            “God, I love this job.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

            Tessa, carrying the client’s “package”, followed Gabriel into their fifth-floor office building. She knew their clients, the ambassador and his wife, would be waiting in her office where Gabriel had left them hours ago when they walked in with their crisis. This case would have been handled and neatly wrapped up hours ago if it hadn’t been for the mobster’s finicky choices in locations; he would call to change locations as soon as Tessa and Gabriel arrived.

           Gabriel punched his ID code into the security pad beside the metal door with the words _Reagan & Associates _stenciled in white. There was an audible click of the lock disengaging. Gabriel held open the heavy door for Tessa, but she stood frozen just outside the door frame.

            “What is it?” Gabriel asked. The concerned look he had earlier made a reappearance, yet this time it was softened by Tessa’s own look of concealed desperation.

            “Do you ever stop and just _think_ about having kids? What your life would be like?” She asked softly. In the hour it took to get back to their office across town through traffic, she had become accustomed to the feeling of holding someone this small in her arms.

            “You can’t keep him, Tess,” Gabriel smiled understandingly.

            “Not _him._ Just someone like him.”

            Gabriel closed the office door and stepped back into the hallway. He placed his hand on the baby’s head and gently soothed his thumb across. A warm smile tugged at his lips when he looked down into the small, innocent face.

            “Tess,” he started gently. “You did what you thought you had to do when Michael….” He took his hand off the baby and tilted Tessa’s chin up to look at him, “No one can blame you. When the time is right, you’ll get another chance.”

            “It’s too late,” she smiled, “he’s already taken.”

           “I do hope you’re talking about me,” he teased back. He chuckled and opened the door for her.

            Tessa put on her “friendly-but-business” face as she strode into the purposefully small lobby of their office. There was a deep mahogany U-shaped desk stationed in front of a glass wall that boldly showed in black text _Reagan & Associates_. At her desk was Donna Martin, the firm’s receptionist/secretary. She was a 5’3 red head, her hair pulled back from her face with a flower clip, yet still tumbled gracefully down her back. She was no more than twenty-five, her cornflower blue eyes held the story of a woman who has lived far beyond her years.

            “Is that him?” Donna asked in greeting. She rose from her chair and quietly making her way around her desk. She was wearing a modest peach dress that hugged her hourglass figure in all the right places. Her creamy skin and bright hair complemented her dress.

            “This is him,” Gabriel smiled. “Donna, I’d like you to meet baby Viktor.”

            “He’s beautiful,” she sighed. She stroked his forehead gently with her fingertips, starring down at him in awe.

            “I’m sure his mother would agree with you,” Tessa prompted.

            “Oh, right,” Donna pulled back from the baby to lean over her desk, standing on her tipy-toes to do so, to hit the button that would buzz them in.

            “Now go home. We’re not paying overtime.” Tessa said as she walked through the reception door and into the hallway that lead to the heart of _Reagan & Associates_. Once in the small hallway, it was flanked by a kitchen to the right and a luxurious waiting room/lounge area. There was a black door labeled ‘no admittance’ in bold white ink in the corner of the kitchen.

That was Lyall’s office – if you could call it that. He was Tessa’s go-to computer genius like the kind you see in the movies and on TV. He can’t work Hollywood-fiction fast, but he’s fast enough and good enough at what he does to land him on a couple watch lists.

“I’m not on the clock,” Donna reassured Tessa as she followed her and Gabriel into the office. “I just wanted to make sure the baby is alright.”

She stopped following them to turn into the kitchen, presumably heading to Lyall’s office. Lyall lived more in his office than he did in whatever loft he squats in.

           At the end of the hallway was a set of opaque-glass French doors in deep mahogany brown stain and white trim. Gabriel opened those doors for her as well, opening up to a round wooden table in the center of the room. To the left was Tessa’s office, her name stenciled in black on the door, and to the right was Gabriel’s office, his name, too, stenciled in black on his door. The wall directly in front of the French doors, between the two offices, was a wall made purely out of glass windows that showed the beautifully iconic New York city-scape.

            Through Tessa’s office window, the ambassador’s wife watched as Tessa entered the office with her son safely in her arms. She rushed out of the office, tears happily streaming from her eyes, to greet them both. Tessa carefully handed over the baby back to his mother and watched on as she buried her face into her child, rocking him against her. Although the ambassador walked calmly out of her office with his bodyguard in tow, Tessa could see the worry and strain that now been lifted from him.

            “Thank you. Thank you. When the Russians kidnapped him, I thought…but you returned my son back to me. Thank you.” He walked over and pulled Tessa into a hug, squeezing her for good measure. When he pulled back, he was smiling with tears welling in his eyes. “Please. Anything I can do for you and your firm. Anything.”

           “We're not a law firm, Mr. Ambassador.” Tessa corrected politely. “We're lawyers, but this is not a law firm.”

           “Law firms are for pansies.” Gabriel added jokingly, and the ambassador chuckled.

           “Like our mutual friend explained when he referred you to me, we solve problems. Manage crises, save reputations.”

            “Bah,” The ambassador waved. He placed his hands squarely on Tessa’s shoulders. “Whatever you are, name it, and I will do it for you.”

            “If you ever have a second child, Tessa’s a beautiful name,” Gabriel commented. He was in the process of undoing his tie.

“Mr. Ambassador, you can take your son back to the consulate and keep him safe. And you can _never_ tell anyone about this. The FBI is sick of me.” She added the last with a smile.

“Of course. Thank you.” He smiled and nodded. He let go of Tessa and walked to the door, nodding to Gabriel. “Thank you.”

Gabriel shut the French doors once the main door down the hallway shut behind the ambassador. He let out a heavy sign as he turned to Tessa. A wolfish grin broke across his face as he held up the check the ambassador’s guard handed him.

“Ah, don’t you love the smell of a big pay day? I know I do.” He held the check under his nose and breathed in deep. When he exhaled, he close his eyes and leaned his head back, his mouth forming an ‘O’ with ecstasy.

Tessa rolled her eyes and retreated into her office to shut her computer down and grab some case files to work on at home. She was more than hoping that she could work on these case files she’s been neglecting with a bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn in her living room watching Leno.

“Go home to your fiancé, Gabe.” Tessa called out as she placed the files into her leather briefcase. She turned off the desk lamp and flick the switch on the over-head light as she got to the door.

She glanced down at her watch – 10:45 pm. She sighed, frustrated. As she was putting on her white coat, contrasting beautifully with her light blue dress, she called out to Gabriel, who in office packing his own briefcase, “Let’s call this case a win and celebrate separately.”

“Agreed,” Gabriel smiled as he walked out of his office to join Tessa by the meeting table. From outside the doors, they could hear a small commotion and raised voices. They exchanged confused looks. Gabriel put down in briefcase and walked out the French doors. He came back a moment later looking exhausted and on high alert.

“We’ve got incoming.”

Tessa stopped buttoning up her coat, her hands frozen on the last button. “How bad?”

The French doors opened and Donna walked in. She stood with her back against the door as she ushered in their newest problem. Standing in the doorway was a young man respectively in his mid-twenties with brown hair cleanly-cut and his face clean-shaven. He stood with military discipline, his clothing was Republican standard-issue – long sleeved collared dress shirt, khaki pants with belt, and oxford shoes. The only drawback from his appearance was that he was splattered with deep, crimson blood.

“You have to help me,” He said, his breath hitching in his throat.

When he walked closer towards Tessa, he walked with a limp, slightly dragging his right leg with him. The closer he got, the more Tessa could see of him. He had deep-set brown eyes that were glazed over with tears yet to be shed, possibly do to shock after what’s happened. Donna walked backwards through the doors, shutting them behind her.

“Please. Someone help me.” He stopped just feet away from Tessa and Gabriel. His eyes darted around the room, focusing on nothing in particular. “My girlfriend…” He took a deep breath, a single tear rolling out of his eye. He spoke softer as he looked into Gabriel’s eyes. “She’s dead….police think I killed her.”

Gabriel walked in front of the man, pulling out his phone. He aimed it at the man’s face and snapped a picture of him.

“Welcome to O’Rourke and Associates.” Gabriel said. “I’m Gabriel Short and this is Tessa O’Rourke. If you’ll follow Ms. Martin, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Donna reappeared seemingly out of nowhere carrying a neatly folded stack of what looked to be a change of clothes, a pair of shoes on top. She walked in front of him and gestured for him to follow. Gabriel stealthily handed her his phone as she walked past him. It took a moment for the man to register that he should be moving. He blinked a couple times, trying to get his mind to work. He nodded and followed Donna.

“I’m going to go babysit while Donna gets his picture Lyall. He’s friendlier if it’s her waking him up,” Gabriel winked at her before heading down the auxiliary hallway by Gabriel’s office that Donna and the client walked down. They only use it for cases like this, which, unfortunately, isn’t as rare as they would like it to be.

Tessa sighed heavily as she unbuttoned her coat. It was obvious this man needed their help, but for once she would like to leave this place at a reasonable time and at least pretend to be a normal woman who spends time with her family and goes on occasional dates – all without receiving a life-or-death phones call from clients. She tossed her coat over the back of one of the wooden chairs at the table but not before she dug out her cell phone from her coat pocket.

She pulled up her messages and composed a new one, saying, _“What are you working on?”_

            She laid her phone down on the glass table and grabbed her coat off the back of the chair. She walked into her office, flicking on the overhead light. She hung up her coat and her briefcase on the tall coat rack beside the door.

When she returned to the meeting room a few moments later, she saw Lyall leaning back in one of the chairs, a steaming, pale pink ceramic Hello Kitty cup in his hands. His red conversed feet were propped on the table, his long legs a feast of blue jeans over toned runner’s legs. His hair was a dusty brown and tousled as if he had rolled off the hammock he strung together in his office.

“ _Why are you asking?”_ Lyall read off the message that had appeared on Tessa’s phone screen a few moments ago. He took a sip from his cup, eyeing her with murky hazel eyes. “Caught another one of Danny’s cases?”

“ _Professional curtesy,”_ Tessa typed out as she said, “Let’s hope not.” She looked up at Lyall, picking up his legs off the table by his ankles, moved them away from the table, and dropped them. “Caught a fresh one. He’s in the ‘ready room’. See what you can find out. Keep in mind we are on a time schedule; cops’ll want to be arresting him soon.”

            “We’re always on a deadline, Tess.” Lyall stood up, cradling his mug in his hands.

           He rose to nearly six feet. He wasn’t gawky and skinny limbed as most teenagers his age – Tessa guessed his age to be around eighteen - but leanly built like a baseball player with a big chest, wide shoulders, and flat stomach. His form-fitting black Foo Fighters t-shirt showcased his firm biceps and sleeve tattooed arms that began at his wrists and traveled up to his shoulders, each arm a different intricate design. Connecting from his shoulders, a new set of designs tattooed up his neck, stopping just below his Adam’s apple. He had two face piercings – a black steel lip ring and eyebrow rod, both on his left side.

            “How deep do you want me to go?”

            “No surprises.”

            “Got it.” Lyall walked off to the ‘ready room’ – a sterile white room that was a forensic tech’s wet dream of non-contamination - to snap his own picture of the client, sipping his mug as he went. While Lyall was in there, Gabriel was collecting his own photos for their case file – the blood splatter, the bloody clothes, any external wounds on the client. The client’s clothes would be bagged up tightly and placed in a box that will be held in Gabriel’s office, everything handled with kit gloves. Once evidence and photos were collected, the client changed into a clean pair of clothes, yet would keep the blood on him.

            Tessa smiled fondly after him. She knew about his past, and he about hers. The loyalty Tessa has shown him and earned her all of his. When he first began working for her, Gabriel was skeptical about him; not even he knew what Tessa had done for Lyall.

            Tess’ phone buzzed in her hand. She looked down and smiled at the message, _“Dead girlfriend of Nicolas Randal.”_

**LATER**

Tessa and Gabriel were sitting at the meeting table, sipping coffee from cream-white cups that Donna had set out, while Lyall stood off to the side, Hello Kitty mug on the table and a sheaf of papers in his hands. While he presented the information he dug up, he taped pictures and documents to the window overlooking the city.

           “Captain Nicolas Randal, age 32, did two tours in Iraq. Injured saving the lives of his entire unit. A war hero.”

           “And not just any war hero,” Gabriel added, tapping his pen on his copy of the file Lyall pulled together, “the first living marine awarded the medal of honor for action in any war since Vietnam.”

            “A famous war hero, working class, patriotic, comes from a long line of soldiers.” Lyall pulled out a picture from his master file of Captain Randal receiving his Medal of Honor from President Obama. “Here he is with the president.”

           “Poster boy for the military,” Tessa mused over.

           “And for the conservative right. That's how he makes his living.” Lyall taped Captain Randal’s cover shoot for Modern Warrior on the window as well. “He gives expensive speeches, makes a fortune.” From here, Lyall’s tone cut deep, enunciating every word, as he aggressively taped the window. “He's anti-choice, pro-gun, hates the gays, and likes it when kids pray in school.”

          “Lyall.” Gabriel warned.

           “I'm just saying he’s against _me_ politically and _you_ personally.” Lyall turned back to Gabriel and Tessa. “I'm not saying we shouldn't help him. I’m just not going to be happy about it.”

           “Who's the dead girlfriend?” Tessa asked, getting back on track. She turned in her file to a photo of a beautiful young woman. She was the ideal soccer-mom, trophy-wife prospect with blonde hair and soulful eyes.

         “Jennifer Walsh, 27, rich girl with a good family.” Lyall turned back to the window to tape up her picture.

           “Has anything gone public?”

           “Your brother is keeping it quite. It's on the police scanners as,” Lyall dug out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and read off it, “ _’Girl found dead in her apartment, three shots to the head_.’”

           “Three? That's not an accident.” Gabriel said, wincing.

           “Randal called 9-1-1, but took off before the police arrived,” Lyall continued. He placed the piece of paper on the table, trying to smooth it out the best he could, before taping to next to Jennifer’s picture.

           “Game plan, Tess,” Gabriel turned in his chair to face her. He was unconsciously chewing on the clip of his pen. “Where do you want us to start?”

            Tessa looked down at her watch. She knew it was only a matter of time before Danny came here looking to arrest him on suspicion of murder. He looked the part of it, which was bad enough. If she went over Erin’s head in the prosecutor’s office, she could prolong his arrest until morning. She needed to get ahead of the situation – be the first one with all the information.

            “We’ll interview Randal. We need to decide who he is. Give him the rules. Give him the warning. Once we get his story, Gabe, I want you to work the crime scene. Lyall, work the morgue.”

            “How come I always get the morgue?” Lyall asked incredulously as he picked up his mug.

           “Because you’ve banged all the attendants in the corpse freezer,” Gabriel off-handedly explained. He opened the door to his office, ushering everyone in. Donna had moved him in there not long ago. Lyall gave him a friendly scowl as he walked past.

            Tessa held back. She pulled out her cell phone and pressed 1 on her speed dial.

            “ _Commissioner Reagan_ ,” A gruff voice answered.

            “Hey, daddy, it’s me.”

            “ _Tessa. How’d the emergency tie up?_ ”

            “Tied up nicely. Even managed to put a bow on top.” She heard her father chuckle. It was a warm rumble that made her smile. “Listen, dad, I caught another case. He walked in off the street just as I was heading out.”

            _“And there’s a problem.”_ Tessa smiled slightly. Frank always knew when something was wrong.

            “Can’t say much other than Danny is working it too.”

            “ _Captain Nicolas Randall. War hero that shot his girlfriend_.”

            “Allegedly-” Tessa paused. She turned away from the office window and lowered her voice. “How do you know that already? Did Danny-”

            “ _Garrett told me about an hour ago. Said that Danny was working it, that’s all.”_

            Garrett Moore was her father’s Deputy Commissioner for Public Information and also serves as a Chief of Staff of sorts. He was one of Frank’s most trusted advisors. She had to hand it to him, he deserves every penny of his paycheck.

           _“What do you need from me?”_

            “Who says I need something?”

            _“You wouldn’t be calling at this hour while working a case as big as this if you didn’t need something. So what is it?”_

            Tessa respected her father for being an unbiased man who never played favorites, especially when it came to his children. He never asked them for favors or granted them when asked himself. She knew he question would fall on deaf ears, but she had to ask it anyway.

            “Garrett will want you to comment on the situation. He’ll arrange a press conference or something. I’m not asking that you don’t, I’m asking that you hold off.”

            Frank was silent on the other end of the line for a moment. _“For how long?”_

            “Twenty four hours maximum. That gives everyone plenty of time to calm down and gather _correct_ information.”

            _“Okay,”_ Frank agreed slowly. “ _Twenty four hours_ maximum _. If new evidence comes to light and requires me to comment, I will. And I will comment honestly.”_

            Tessa let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Commissioner.”

            _“You’re welcome.”_

            “Oh, and dad?”

            _“Yeah, sweetie?”_

            “Don’t forget to call Danny and make sure he drops off the roast for Sunday dinner?”

            She hung up the phone with a smile. With the bone he threw her, she might as well throw him one back. This way, he can call Danny with an excuse to get an update.

           Nicolas Randal was sitting on the leather sofa directly across the door. He was hunched over, his arms resting on his legs, his head hung, and his hands fidgeting. He looked up when the team entered.

            Gabriel sat down behind his desk; Lyall sat on the edge of the desk, fiddling with the Newton’s Cradle that was beside him; and Tessa sat down on the sofa ottoman in front of Randal. She spoke softly, with a kind and understanding tone, but underneath it was stern.

           “Nicolas, here’s how it’s going to go. I have one rule - do not lie. You lie, all bets are off. Got it?”

           “Y-Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. His eyes were still glossy, his nose was running, and his hands shook. Although this man may have done some terrible things overseas for our country, he looked no more a killer than a labradoodle puppy. Granted, a labradoodle puppy that’s been kicked a few times.

           “Why were you at Jennifer’s apartment?”

           “I-I was gonna propose. We were gonna get married. Jennifer is every-” Randal stopped suddenly. He took a shaky breath and corrected himself. “Jennifer _was_ everything to me. She was my best friend.”

           “Did you kill her?” Lyall asked flat-out.

           “No.” Randal shook his head. “No. I would never. I loved her.”

           “Where'd the blood come from?” Gabriel asked.

          “I-I went to her apartment, and I found her like that….I-I held her, but there was…..there was just so much blood, and I-I called the police and I-I-I panicked.” He took another shaky breath. He focused on his hands as he wrung the washcloth. “I'm on TV, you know, so I didn't know what to do. I thought that they would think that I did it. I panicked. I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.”

           “Where were you during the murder?” Tessa asked.

           “I w-walk at night around the neighborhood. I-I was walking, and I stepped into Matty's Pub and I had a beer. You know, to get courage before proposing. And then I kept walking and went to go see Jennifer.”

           “Do you own a handgun?” Lyall asked, again, not too sensitively. He was playing his role as the accuser well.

           “Not since I left the military.” Randal started breaking down. He covered him mouth with his hands, his eyes squeezing together. “I-I just don't believe s-she's actually gone…”

            Tessa gave Randal a moment to gain control of himself before continuing. “You are to stay here. No phone calls: not to work, not to friends, not to the press, _no one_. This is on us now. Your job is to stay in this office and let us do our job.”

           “Understood.” Randal nodded.

            “Do you remember my rules?”

           “No lying. I lie, you walk.”

           “Good.” She glanced down at her watch. It was almost one in the morning. She looked back up at Randal. “Now is there anything else you want to tell me?”

           Randal looked her square in the eyes and with all seriousness said, “I didn’t kill her. She was my best friend. I loved her.”

            Tessa and her associates got what they needed. Now it was their turn to do the leg work. Often times, they’d close a case faster than the police assigned. Danny was good, but he didn’t have their resources.

            “I have one question,” Randal stood up as Tessa did. Lyall and Gabriel had already walked out of the office and were waiting at the meeting table. “What is it that you guys do? You helped a buddy of mine back in D.C and….and then nothing. No court. No press.”

           Tessa chose her next words carefully, saying them slowing to consider their value. “If we do our jobs right, Mr. Randal, we never need to go to court. We're not a law firm because we don't have to play within the rules of the law. We're fixers; we make the problems of our client, big or small, go away. It's not about solving a crime. It's not about justice. That’s for the police. For us, it's about our client. Tonight, that is you. Do what I tell you and you’ll be home soon.”

           Randal nodded. He’d gotten the answer – Tessa Reagan and her people can be trusted.

           Tessa left the office and entered in the middle of Gabriel and Lyall having a discussion on whether or not to actual work the case.

           “I vote no,” Lyall said, turning to Tessa as she walked up. “The guy's a fugitive covered in blood. Not once did he question who killed his girlfriend or ask us to find her killer. We all know that's a red flag. He did it.”

           “No, I don't think he did.” Gabriel shook his head. “He's a soldier, government-issue trained killing machine.”

           “Like you?” Lyall commented.

           “He'd have to be an idiot to get her blood all over himself, call 9-1-1, and then run.” Gabriel continued. After a moment he hesitated. “But I still vote no. It's a media hand grenade.”

           “It's too messy, and too much work. And I hate republicans.” Lyall added.

           “We're taking the case.” Tessa decided after a moment’s thought. Her gut instinct told her everything she needed to know about her cases, and right now, it told her to go forward with it.

           “Why do we even bother voting?” Gabriel sighed. He grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and began shrugging it on. “I’m heading to the scene. I’ll tell Danny you said ‘Hi’.”

           “Give me a ride to the morgue?” Lyall asked.

           “Sure. Got a body bag preference?”

            “Funny. You’re funny.” Lyall sneered. He followed Gabriel out the French doors and to the elevators.

           While the boys were working the ground, Tessa would work the people. And by people, she meant the Assistant US Attorney of New York. She knew Erin would not be happy she skirted around her jurisdiction and went straight to the big leagues.

            She went to her office to retrieve her coat and car keys.

 

**HOME OF US ATTORNEY SAMUEL LYNCH**

Tessa stood on the front steps of a Washington Heights brownstone repeatedly knocking the heavy wooden door with intricate metal detailing and ringing the bell. Her actions were load and annoying, yet minutes after she began, the porch lights flicked on and she could her thunderous footsteps coming down the stairs on the other side of the door.

            The multiple locks were hastily unbolted and the infuriated, handsome face of US Attorney Samuel Lynch appeared when the door swung open. Standing at an even six feet, man of pure muscle, he wore nothing but plaid, drawstring pants. His dark hair was tousled from having just rolled out of bed. Slight stubbed shadowed his strong jawline. The night air’s chill drifted in through the open door. Tessa could visibly see his nipples hardening.

           “Why am I not surprised that you're on this?” He said without greeting. He made no move to cover himself or invite her inside.

           They’ve slept together before out of professional curiosity, but now it was strictly personal. Every once in a while they’d go out for dinner to talk over a case, the night almost always leading to the bedroom. Yet at nearly one in the morning, Sam and Tessa were all business.

           “You have to give me 48 hours before you arrest or charge Captain Nicolas Randall.”

           “I was sleeping.” Sam let some of his exhaustion seep into his voice, making it huskier.

           “The US attorney's office never sleeps. You told me that once.”

           “I was being ironic and wanting to sleep with you.”

           “48 hours before you arrest or charge.” Tessa repeated herself.

           “Tessa,” Sam said as if it were a warning, “you don't have the muscle of a Senator behind you anymore. You're just a private citizen, who is, by the way, _annoying_.”

“You like annoying, Sam.” Sidestepping back to the issue at hand. “He's a decorated war hero. He's a patriot. You realize the blowback you'll get for rushing to judgment on a patriot?”

“The blowback _you'll_ create?” Sam corrected her.

“Well, yeah. That's my job.” She nodded as she spoke.

           “Do you actually have the naive belief that waking me in the middle of the night and threatening me is the correct path to getting your way?”

            Behind him, a half-naked woman clad in only her thong, cheetah print panties, tip-toed down the top few stairs. She tried to hide herself, but Tessa knew she was there. She looked no more than barely legal and most likely of the foreign model-wanna-be variety.

           Tessa smirked. “I wasn't threatening you. He didn't kill her. My gut says he didn't.”

           “Your Reagan Spidey-Senses aren't evidence. I've been on the phone with major crimes – your brother in fact. He killed her and ran.”

           “I can have a reporter out here in twenty minutes, with cameras, asking _why_ you are persecuting an innocent, handicapped Medal of Honor recipient. Perhaps because he's a well-known conservative Republican and you are considering a bid on the Democratic ticket next year.” She took a small breath. “Just to be clear that was me threatening you.”

           “You have until morning-”

           “Thirty-six hours.”

           “Twenty-four-”

           “SOLD!” She turned her back and began making her way down the red-brick steps. Over her shoulder she called out, “Pleasure to see you again.”

**APARTMENT OF JENNIFER WALSH**

**CRIME SCENE**

            Red and blue police lights followed Gabriel through the open door in into a small hallway that held a flight of stairs. Halfway up the stairs was a detective writing things down in his memo book. AS Gabriel walked up the stairs, he said,

           “Hey, Shultz. Body still here or did the morgue take it already?”

           Detective Shultz stopped what he was doing to block Gabriel from walking any further. “Go home. I'm not telling you a thing.”

Gabriel stopped a stair below him, a smile on his face. “You don't have to. I'll just take a quick peek at the crime scene.”

“Not on my watch, Short. My Reagan would kill me a whole lot faster than yours would.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Gabriel muttered. The detective raised an eyebrow. “How's your wife, Wally? She's what, six months pregnant?” Gabriel leaned in closer, yet raised his voice, “Does she know about the stripper?”

“You're a real dick, you know that?”

The detective stepped aside and Gabriel proceeded up into the apartment. It was crawling with crime scene techs and back-saddle, washed-up detectives. Lights from camera flashes were going off in nearly every room; so when Gabriel pulled out his camera, its flashes went unnoticed.

The first photo he took was of the mantel above the fireplace in the living room. There was a wine glass with the red wine still in it, the evidence marker - a yellow card with the black number six - stood beside it.

Further in the apartment was a hall that lead to the bathroom. There was blood splatter that stretched from the open doorframe to the hall. The closer Gabriel got, he saw that it was a bloody handprint smear on the doorframe; and on the wall was the splatter. A circular hole was in the middle of the splatter.

Inside the bathroom was the body of Jennifer Walsh. She was beautiful, even in death. Her corpse lay in between the standing sink and the square, mosaic bathtub. There was blood pooling and splatter covering the entire room. Moving the camera towards her face, he could clearly see the three bullet wounds the police scanner reported – once to the right temple, one to the forehead over the right eyebrow, and the last below her right collar bone.  

           What struck Gabriel as odd about this scene was the murder weapon. Not that the weapon was a gun, but that it was still at the scene and not six inches away from Jennifer’s barefoot.

**CITY MORGUE**

Lyall stood quietly by the metal trough sink in the observation room, watching Doctor Lisa Howell walk away from a rather bloated corpse. She was blonde, petite, and meticulous in her work. A true professional. That is, until Lyall came alone. When she looked up and saw him starring at her from behind the glass, he could visibly read her lips form the words,

            “Hell no.”

            “Lisa.” Lyall said. He jogged to the vacuumed sealed, automatic door that gave access to the morgue, but Lisa beat him there. “Lisa.”

            “No!” She held her hand on the red button beside the door that sealed it shut. With the other hand, she placed it firmly on her hip. “You didn't call me.”

           Lyall sighed. He threw his hands up in the air. “I'm an ass.”

           “You slept with me and didn't call me.”

Thinking quickly, he made up an excuse. “I'm getting married.”

“You?” Her hand dropped from the red button in shock, giving Lyall enough time to wave his hand over the sensor to open the door. “You're getting married?” Lisa turned away and walked into the morgue. Lyall right behind her. “You?”

AS unbelievable as it sounded, Lyall could hardly believe he said it. That was Gabriel’s truth. Lyall would merely adopt it and tweek it as needed for the night.

           “Her name is Chris and she’s a secretary for a marketing firm. Which is why, as much as I would like to,” Lyall followed her back to the metal slap that held the bloated corpse. He leaned over to seductively, yet apologetically, whisper in her ear, “I can't do it with you in the freezer anymore.”

She turned to look at him. She knew he was spinning her a line of bull, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking. Sex with Lyall was the best thing she’s experienced in a while, so she would look at this as a favor. Granted she was probably ten years, perhaps fifteen years his senior, but that boy was just so damn good.

“What do you want?”           

Lyall wasted no time. “I need you to fast-track an autopsy and slip me the report.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**FRIDAY**

It was the early morning, the first golden rays of sunrise had filtered through the ornate windows of the offices. From Gabriel’s office, Randall watched Lyall and Gabriel tape pictures and reports from the crime scene and morgue to the vast window in the meeting room that looked out into the city. It would have been a magnificent view this early in the morning, something he would have loved drinking his morning tea watching, if it had not been for the grotesque images replacing it.

            The door to the office startled him. He jumped back slightly.

            “I’ve brought you some breakfast,” the red haired secretary, Donna, said kindly as she entered the room with a wooden tray.

           She looked different from when he first saw her last night – her clothing was more demure now, soft pastel long sleeve shirt with a peter pan collar, white skirt over maroon tights. Her hair fell in small waves around her face, framing it beautifully. Her makeup, as well, was not as flashy as the night before; now neutral and professional. Glancing back into the meeting room, Randall noticed that Donna seemed to be the only one who’s changed clothing besides him.

            “You guys have been here all night. Don’t you people ever sleep? Do any of you have husbands or wives, kids, lives?”

            He asked all this as her surveyed the food she had brought him on the tray. A large white plate contained an omelet stuffed with mushrooms, red bell peppers, onions, and spinach, with a side of crispy bacon. A small white bowl beside it held fresh fruit – an equal ratio between kiwis, mangos, and pineapples. There were two cups, a glass of orange juice and a mug of black coffee. It’s exactly what he had nearly every morning.

            Amazed, he looked up at her, wondering how she would have known this. She couldn’t have ordered it all, it was simply too fresh.

            She stared back at him with blank kindness. He winced inward for having asked that question. Somehow it was too personal.

            “No.” She said politely enough. After a moment, a practiced smile came to her face. “Enjoy your breakfast, Captain. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”

            Without another word, she turned on her heel and left – out of Gabriel’s office, out through the double French doors of the meeting room.

            Randall continued to watch Gabriel and Lyall collect and post more evidence to the window. It wasn’t long before Donna reappeared in the meeting room, balancing a large, circular tray in both hands. She set it down on the meeting table and left again after receiving a grateful kiss on the cheek from Lyall as he made his way towards his breakfast.

**LATER**

            Tessa was on the phone with her brother while she changed in her office. Outside her office, Donna made Tessa breakfast and the boys finished taping up the evidence.

            “You can’t talk to him.”

            “ _Doesn’t have to be in person. Put him on the phone-”_

            “No, Danny.” She buttoned up her white blouse and tucked it into her grey trousers. “I talked to Lynch and bought some time before the boys in blue haul him away.” She sat down on the edge of a chair, holding her phone up between the crook of her neck and her ear, as she slipped on matching platform heels. “Luckily for you, that gives you time to focus on the evidence and find yourself an _actual_ suspect.”

            _“He is our suspect, Tess!”_

            “Go find another one.” She hung up the phone and shoved it in her pocket. As she stood up, she twisted her chestnut hair into a messy, yet organized bun. Strands of hair fell around her face, framing it.

           She stood in front of the window of evidence, carefully scrutinizing every piece. Weighing the value of each and every one. Shad had been standing there for perhaps an hour, a little over an hour, when she finally spoke up.

            “We need more.”

            Lyall’s head jerked up from napping on the table, his forearm a pillow. Donna had gently been stroking his hair. Gabriel was downing his third cup of black coffee, trying to stay awake.

            Gabriel shared an exhausted glance with Donna. She nodded her head towards Tessa, signaling him to talk to her. Lyall unsuccessfully stifled a yawn, causing Donna to yawn back. She gracefully, covered her mouth, unlike Lyall.

“The guy's alibi is water, bloody clothes, and he's a runner,” Gabriel presented the facts as he walked up to her. She stood off her right shoulder and brandished his coffee mug at the evidence in front of them. “He killed her.”

“Definitely killed her.” Lyall seconded.

“There,” Tessa pointed to the picture of the gun on the bathroom tile. “Gun was found on the scene.”

“Since you can’t get involved, I'll work the cops; find out if there are any fingerprints on the gun.” Gabriel chugged the remains of coffee. Donna held out her hand for the mug as he walked past her to the French doors. Gabriel kissed her cheek, a smile creeping to her lips, before leaving.

“And there,” Tessa pointed to a candid photo of the couple taking a stroll through the park. “Look at them. Look how he's looking at her. He loves her.”

“A guy in love only kills if he has motive.” Lyall spoke up. He rubbed his eyes and joined Tessa at the window. “If he has a motive, we need to find it before your brother does.”

As Lyall spoke, Tessa’s phone dinged behind them. Donna picked it up from the table and handed it to Tessa. Still looking at the window, she unlocked her phone and pulled up the text message. When she did glance down at it, it gave her pause.

“I have to step out. I'll be back.” She walked to the table and pulled her white knee-length coat and lavender handbag off of the back of one of the chairs. As she left, she called back, “We need more!”

Lyall and Donna looked at each other. If Tessa wants more, they’ll get more.

 

**LULLWATER BRIDGE, PROSPECT PARK**

**BROOKLYN**

            Tessa was not wearing the right shoes for a stroll through the park. Traffic plus traipsing through cobblestone walkways took her longer than she had planned to reach the bridge. An immaculate man in a dark suit stood a couple of yards in front of the bridge, blocking to path. Everything about him screamed private, military security.

            The man silently held out his hand for Tessa to stop as she approached.

            “Let her through,” a man’s voice ordered with a warm, deep voice that would send shivers down anyone’s spine. Tess peered around the man in the suit to see another man, the one that had called out, standing in the middle of the bridge looking down at his cell phone. He was a handsome man, early forties, with dark brown hair neatly cut short and tapered. His beard was short, but full, covering his jaw and chin, a moustache connecting to it. He was tall, six-two, was well built. An athlete or someone who valued physical strength and health. The suit he wore was expensive – black trousers and suit jacket, grey vest, crisp white shirt and lavender tie underneath.  

            The man in the suit lowered his hand and resumed his stance. Tessa walked around him and onto the bridge.

            “What?” She called out to him as she got closer.

            He looked up from his phone and raised a trimmed eyebrow. “Hi. Hello. How are you?”

            Tessa rolled her eyes and smiled. “Hi. Hello. How are you? What?”

           “You working the Captain Nicolas Randall thing?”

           “I'm trying to stamp out the flames. If you guys could refrain from commenting-”

           “What's your gut say?” The man interrupted. He pocketed his cell phone and leaned against the bridge, his elbow on the edge.

           “He didn't do it.”

“Your gut's never wrong,” He smiled, nodding. “We'll stay quiet. But keep me in the loop.”

“You didn't ask me here to talk about Captain Randall, you could’ve call your husband for that.”

“That would be grossly unprofessional going over your head like that. You know he’d never tell me anything. Plus,” The man straightened up, pushing off of the bridge, “Gabe and I promised not to talk about work.”

“Then why am I here?” Tessa was becoming annoyed. If it wasn’t about Captain Randall, or Gabriel, then she had a very clear idea what he was about to say next. And she didn’t like it.

Tessa could see the hesitation. “He needs a favor.”

           “I don't work for him.” She looked away from him, starring downstream at the orange and yellow trees.

           “He trusts you.”

Tessa looked back at him and slowly punctuated every word. “I don't work for him.”

           “And yet you came when I called.”

“Because I thought maybe, just maybe, that this was a normal phone call between friends. That you wanted last minute advice on you anniversary dinner, that you didn’t know what to wear, or where to eat-”

“I know what I’m wearing and I know where we’re eating.” The corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.

“Only because I made the reservations for you.” Tessa smiled back. For a moment, Tessa allowed herself to believe that Christopher Neilson was, at this moment, her friend, her best friend’s husband, and not the right hand to the man who ruined her life.

“This is your anniversary present,” she said as she looped her arm through his and began walking the bridge. “I’m returning the other one.”

Taking that as confirmation, Chris gave her the situation. He kept his voice low, not knowing who else besides his trusted security was listening. “There's a girl, an aide, going around saying she's sleeping with him.”

“Is she?”

“Tess.”

“Is she?”

           “No. You know him. He's not that guy.”

“I do know him. He is that guy.” Her tone was cold as ice, venom seeping through.

“I know him too, and he _was_ that guy. Key word _was._ But not after settling down with Catherine and having the kids.” Chris looked down at Tessa. He knew the hell she had gone through, Chris was there to pick up the piece from both sides – _his_ and hers. But now was not the time for sentiment. There was work to be done. “I need you to shut her down.”

Tessa stopped. She pulled her arm out of his and turned to face him. “I need to see him.”

“Tess, that's not possible.”

“You want me to shut her down? Then I need to look him in the eye and know he's not lying.”

“He's not-” Chris sighed. He knew exactly how stubborn Tessa Reagan could get. She got it from her father, just like her brothers. “Look, the man's schedule is insane. He has no time to see you. And you two haven’t been in the same room since your brother’s nearly beat him to death.”

“ _He_ wants the favor. _He_ wants my services. I do not work for him,” Tessa straightened Chris’s suit jacket lapels, “so you tell my cheating ex-fiancé Michael O’Rourke to make time.”

She kissed his cheek and smiled sarcastically before making her leave of the bridge.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOCIATES**

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

Tessa stood in front of her full length mirror, fixing her outfit, while Gabriel stood behind her fuming.

            “You’re going?” He asked angrily.

            “Yes, I’m going.” She held out her hand, and Gabriel provided his arm as a support beam as she slipped back into her platform heels. “I won’t be gone long.”

           “You're going to meet with Michael, why?”

           “Because Christopher asked me to.”

            “My husband did what?” Gabriel’s went wide in disbelief. He knew full well that Christopher worked for Michael, to Gabriel’s dislike, but he never imaged Chris would cross the professional line into backstabbing traitor land.

            “It’s only business, Gabe.” Tessa reminded him, laying a soft hand on his cheek.

           “Business is business. What we do is business. What they do is business. _This,”_ he gestured to nothing in particular, but meant the situation, “ _this_ is unbelievably personal. What the hell does he want, anyway?”

            “To talk.” Tessa took her purse off her desk and walked out of her office.

            “It had better be one _gigantic_ apology or else-”

            “Or else what?” Lyall said, meeting them in the hall. “You’ll punch him. You’ve got skills and training, Gabe, but so does he and the hundreds of private military sercurity he employs. Not to mention your husband.”

            “Let’s not mention my husband, thank you.” Gabe said, cutting off that conversation with his hand. He lowered his voice, registering his concern for her. “I don’t like this, Tessa.”

            “Neither do I.” She pushed open the door to the main lobby where Donna’s desk was. She stood up and handed Tessa’s white jacket to her.

            “Kick him in the crotch for me,” She said with as much malice in her sweet voice as she could. She sat down and went back to her work on the computer.

           “Stay on Randall. Text me if anything happens,” Tessa instructed the group as she checked her watch. “I'll be back…soon.”

Gabriel followed her out the main door and into the elevator Donna had sent up. “Hey, should I really do it?”

“Yes.”

“I'm talking about asking Chris to marry me again.” Gabriel clarified as he hit the button for the ground floor parking.

“Yes.”

“Because I was thinking I'd buy the ring today, but with Randall and now Michael…” Tessa could see Gabriel wasn’t holding back any of his hatred for the man whenever he spoke. She appreciated it, especially now.

“Gabriel, do you want me to give you the speech I gave you on your wedding day?”

“The speech before or after I got cold feet and wanted to run?”

“After.”

“Alright.”

“Normal lives that's the dream. You love him. He loves you. Normal people get married.” The elevator dinged and the light flashed for the ground floor parking. “You are already married to the man you love. This is your way of showing you still care. He proposed last time, now it’s your turn.”

Tessa kissed Gabriel’s cheek and exited the elevator. The door was about to close on Gabriel when he stuck his hand out to stop it. He called after her, “Why am I listening to you, you won't even date.”

“I have two failed engagements under my belt; I'm not normal.”

 

**UPSTAIRS**

            Lyall hopped up on Donna’s desk as she worked on…..whatever it was she did. Lyall honestly didn’t know what she did besides cooking, cleaning, and the occasional illegal errand. He laid down a small stack of papers on her keyboard so she’d have no choice but to read them.

            “What’s this?” She asked as she picked them up. She leaned back in her chair and began to read.

            “I finally managed to hack Jennifer’s e-mail. I've been reading them and I think I found something.”

“Are you waiting for me to find it to?”

Lyall rudely took the papers back and flipped to the page he needed before handing them back. “Jennifer sent an email to a friend, Abigail Day. On the night of the murder, they were supposed to attend an embassy party together.”

“Supposed to…” Donna drawled as she read the e-mails. She looked up at Lyall and handed the papers back. “So why didn't she go?”

Lyall smiled. “I’m on my way to find out.”

**THE METROPOLITIAN MUSEUM OF ART**

            In one of the larger gallery spaces was a massive sculpture suspended from the ceiling, traveling the entire length of the room. White, wooden foldable chairs were arranged perfectly underneath the sculpture to face a white podium with the museum’s logo carved into it. Placing programs in each seat was Abigail Day, the victim’s best friend.

            She was a small woman, perhaps five-four at the tallest. She would have looked like a teenager if it hadn’t been for her clothing and heavy amounts of make-up.

           “Yeah, Paige and I were supposed to go to the French Consulate dinner.”

           “What happened?”

           “Look, how do I know you are who you say you are?” Abigail exasperatedly threw her hand in te air. She was reeling from the loss of a close friend, but Lyall could also tell she was scared of something. But of what? “The police have already questioned me. You don’t even look like a lawyer; you look like a kid.”

“I could tell you the same thing, Ms. Day.”

She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, it was soft. “She called at the last minute and she canceled. No big deal.”

Lyall took a step closer to her. “Ms. Day, if there's something you're not telling me-

“Look,” She brandished the handful of programs at Lyall, “you have to understand Jennifer loves Nick. She used to be - we both used to be - you know, party girls. Always out, always with a different guy. And then Jen met Nick, and she just _settled_ _down_ with him, you know?” She took a deep breath to calm herself, trying not to let the tears rush her. “It made her family really happy. They were amazing together….I just can't believe she's dead!”

Abigail began to cry softly into her hand. Lyall wanted to roll his eyes, instead he glanced at his watch. ‘

“Ms. Day, you can cry. That's understandable, but that's not gonna make me go away.” Abigail sniffled and dropped her hand. She was truly crying, but only to cover something up. “What aren't you telling me?”

 

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


	2. The Drums of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Graduation

**NEW HAVEN, CT**

**O’ROUKE ESTATE**

Two hours. Two hours Tessa drove to meet the man she had spent nearly her entire adult life avoiding. She had slipped up a couple years ago, but after a devastating blow she hardened her resolve to stay away. And now she was a lamb heading back into the lion’s den.

            The address Christopher had sent lead her into the seclusion of the woods where only there was a single road canopies by beautiful orange and yellow on either side of the drive. She knew she was getting close when an immaculate black guard booth with a metal arm that extended to the other side of the road came into sight.

            A man dressed in black military gear stepped out, his left hand held up to signal her to stop, the other hand resting on his holstered gun. Tessa pulled up next to the man and rolled down her window.

            “I.D” The man said. He looked standard issue, as did the man behind him in the guard booth.

            Tessa turned to her purse in the passenger seat beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guard tense. She straightened up and handed the man her driver’s license.

            “Tessa Reagan for Christopher Neilson.”

            The man held the license out behind him for the man in the booth to take. He checked it against his clipboard and the computer. He walked up to the car and handed it back to Tessa.

            “Mr. O’Rourke is expecting you, ma’am.” Guard #2 said. He walked back into the guard booth to raise the metal arm for Tessa to drive through.

            Tessa followed the road for another mile or so until a beautiful cream and brown stone mansion came into view. There were white pillars and Victorian architecture; beautiful gardens and a white fountain in the front courtyard. Another guard, dressed in the same black military gear as the two in the booth, walked out of the car garage that was off the side of the courtyard. He held up his hand for Tessa to stop the car. The guard opened her door for her and held out his hand to assist her.

            “Please leave the keys in the ignition ma’am,” The guard politely instructed. He pointed to the front door of the mansion where a beautifully immaculate blonde woman stood in the open doorway. She wore a sharp charcoal suit jacket and white shirt, a matching pencil skirt hugged her curves. Her heels were the same shade of charcoal as the rest of her. The only color not muted on her where her vibrant green eyes that eerily stood out from the rest of her. “If you would follow Ms. Gadd there, she’ll show you to where you need to be.”

            Tessa nodded to the guard and made her way to Ms. Gadd. The guard slid into Tessa’s car and moved it around the car garage.

            “Ms. Reagan,” Ms. Gadd held out her hand.

            “Ms. Gadd,” Tessa shook the woman’s hand.

            Ms. Gadd gracefully waved in Tessa and began walking down the lengthy corridor that smelled of rich wood and leather. “Mr. O’Rourke is in the middle of a very important conference call with President Omar al-Bashir of Sudan.” She turned right at the end of the hall. “It’s Mr. Neilson that you’ll be meeting with first.”

            The sound of sweet, innocent laughter drifted down from some unseen staircase. Tessa paused, glancing around. Ms. Gadd picked up on Tessa’s new-found hesitation.

            “Mr. O’Rourke’s wife and children are here as well.”

            The whole family…..Christopher hadn’t mentioned that. Ms. Gadd was beginning to pick up on what Tessa was truly feeling. Tessa drew her shield around her as they pushed on. They passed several heavy wooden doors before they came to double glass doors with mahogany wood paneling.

            “Mr. Neilson thought you would be more comfortable in his office while you waited for Mr. O’Rourke.”

            Through the glass, Tessa could see Christopher sitting behind his desk, writing reports and signing his name to important documents. When Ms. Gadd opened the double doors, Christopher looked up. He smiled when he saw Tessa.

           “Hi,” Tessa smiled back.

            “Hello,” Christopher but down his pen and stood up. He walked around his desk and embraced her.

           “How are you?” Tessa smiled at their repeated greeting from this morning.

           “Better now that you’re here,” Christopher pulled away. “Is there something Veronica can get for you?”

            Veronica? Who’s Veronica? At the mention of her name, Ms. Gadd stepped forward with a polite smile.

           “Anything you’d like, Ms. Reagan.”

           “No, thank you.”

            Christopher curtly nodded to Ms. (Veronica) Gadd. She left silently as she had come in, closing the doors behind her and walking back down the hallway.

           “Veronica was responsible for training the aide accusing Michael of the affair,” Christopher commented. He noticed Tessa staring after her as she left. “She came to me first when she heard of what the girl was saying.”

           “Loyalty is an admirable quality in employees.”

           “You would know.” Christopher sat down on the corner of his desk, gently moving a pile of work. “Veronica’s been with us almost since the beginning. If Michael trusts anyone in this business besides me, it would be her.” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “And you, of course.”

            As he was talking, Tessa looked around the room. The wall opposite the doors, the one behind Christopher’s desk, was lined with countless numbers of books. Some were legal related, others in various topics, and some in different languages. There were oatmeal leather chairs flanking a single oatmeal couch off to the side, perfectly situated beneath a high-arching window that had a spectacular view of the gardens behind the house. The décor was heavy on dark mahogany wood.

            “Michael will join us in a moment. I wanted to give you some time to prepare yourself.”

            Tessa arched her eyebrow. “I’m sure the President of Sudan appreciates that.”

            Christopher chuckled. “I’m sure the President of Sudan appreciates anything Michael would be willing to give him.”

            Tessa heard the children laughing again, yet even more faint. “Catherine and the children are here. Does she know about this?”

            “It’s not like it was with you, Tess. They share everything.” There was a discreet look of pity in Christopher’s eyes, yet reservation in his voice. “The isolation of Michael’s success bonded them. Their marriage is stronger than ever.”

            “I’m happy to hear that.”

            It was Christopher’s turn to raise his thick eyebrows. “If you were to keep out some of your contempt, I might actually believe that.”

            The approaching noise of heels clicking drew their attention. It wasn’t Veronica, she was too quite. Tessa had a feeling about who it might be so she stepping further into the room, taking her place next to Christopher. An aide that looked strikingly similar to Veronica rushed into view and opened the double doors for Catherine O’Rourke, Michael’s wife and Tessa’s former best friend. When Catherine was in the room, she shut the doors and stood sentry outside, her back turned.

           Marriage and motherhood had done Catherine well – she was no longer a stick, but curvy in a delicate manor. The jeans she wore accented her hips flatteringly, as did the oatmeal cable-knit sweater did with her breasts. She was barefoot, so it was in fact the hurried aide that had made the noise with her heels. Her dark hair was twisted into a sloppy bun that oddly suited her.

            “Tessa!” Catherine excitedly called out. She rushed over to her and drew her into a strong embrace. Tessa was shocked at first, before waves of emotion consumed her – primarily longing, regret, and a strange sense of happiness at seeing Catherine after all these years, healthy and happy. It took her a moment, but Tessa lifted up her arms slowly and hugged Catherine back. She buried her face in the crook of her neck, and Catherine did the same.

           It seemed like hours in that long-awaited embrace before either of them pulled away. Tessa could feel tears welling up, and saw that some had already damped Catherine’s cheeks. Her warm golden eyes shone brighter.

            “When Chris said that you were coming, I almost didn’t believe him.”

            “I almost didn’t come.” Tessa admitted honestly.

            Catherine wiped away the streaks on her cheeks and reached out to take Tessa’s hands. Her eyes shifted from happiness to apologetic. “I know I am the last person you want to be talking to – Michael and I both. But I never got the chance to tell you-”

           “I know,” Tessa nodded, squeezing Catherine’s hand. “And I forgive you.”

            Catherine was nearly in tears again at Tessa’s words. Tessa herself could not believe she had said them; but she had, and when she did it felt like a weight had been lifted off her heart. She swatted at her own eyes to keep the tears away. She smiled lightly and repeated in a softer voice,

            “I forgive you, Catie.”

            “I never wanted to hurt you,” Catherine said just as softly.

            _But you did,_ was what Tessa wanted to say, but she refrained. In forgiving Catherine, she felt the strange feeling of hope. Perhaps a friendship with Catherine was salvageable, but it would take time and plenty of space from Michael.

            Tessa reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Catherine’s ear. She laid her hand on her cheek. “What happened, happened. There’s nothing we can do to chance it and I wouldn’t want to,” she smiled squeezed Catherine’s hand with her other hand. “You have a beautiful family and you’re happy. That’s all that matters.”

            Catherine closed her eyes and sighed. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”

            “Probably longer than I’ve wanted to say them.”

            Catherine chuckled. She was about to wipe her eyes again when Christopher handed her a tissue. The girls had forgotten he was there. They looked at him, then at each other, and burst into a fit of giggles. They held each other’s arms to keep from falling.

            Christopher simply rolled his eyes and walked back over to the couch where he had watched their tearful reunion. He was surprised that Tessa had forgiven Catherine – the woman had struck up a relationship with an engaged man and was caught sleeping with him at the rehearsal dinner for the wedding. Tessa was a wreck from the betrayal, Michael was in the hospital from the beating he received from the Reagan brothers, and Catherine was more or less alone. Perhaps the two hours car ride up to New Haven had given Tessa the much needed time to resolve her issues.

            When the giggling died down, the women were smiling at each other. They walked over to the arm chairs flanking Christopher’s couch and sat down, inevitably forcing Christopher from the couch and back to his desk. As Christopher silently did his work, the women talked. It was trivial at first, both of them not wanting to push their tentative new beginning. Once they became comfortable with each other, they began to get personal. Before long, it was as if no time at all had passed them and they were speaking like old friends.

           “So,” Catherine took a sip of lemon water her own aide, the one with the loud heels, Ms. (Margot) Creech, brought in. “Are you dating anybody?” Tessa exasperatedly rolled her eyes. Catherine smiled and laid a hand on Tessa’s arm. “Because there is this guy at council's office I think you'd really hit it off with.”

           “I'm good, really.” Tessa laughed and took a sip of her water. “Thank you.”

The doors opened and Michael O’Rourke stepped through. Tessa’s breath escaped her. It always had whenever she saw him. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Strong square jawline, dusted with copper stubble; cheekbones that would slice you if you hit them; and cool green eyes that would fool anyone with innocence. He stood at six-foot-two and had the lean, prominent muscle to back him. It had been a while since Tessa had seen him out of a business suit, catching glimpses of him on magazine covers and on the television, but the causal look always suited him – jeans with a blue sweater over a white dress shirt, the collar and cuffs visible.

“Tessa,” Michael smiled. He was raised by a German father and an Irish mother, both immigrants, so he spoke with a soft accent that blended both.

The last time Tessa had seen him was a couple years ago at a charity function. It was only in passing, but they knew the other was there. Before that, it was at the hospital her brothers had put him in. It was Jamie, young, sweet, teenage Jamie that had discovered Michael and Catherine together. Jamie threw the first punch, understandably. When they heard the scuffle going on up stairs, and Catherine screaming, Joe and Danny ran up to see the problem. They saw what was going on and joined in. They nearly beat him to death. Tessa never knew why Michael never pressed charges, it was right up his alley to do so.

Michael walked over to extend his hand. Tessa stood up to receive it. It was as strong and warm as she remembered it to be. She could tell Michael was thinking about how soft and delicate Tessa’s hands were, just as he remembered.

“Michael,” she said softly.

She was captivated by him, yes, but in no way would she allow herself to forgive him as easily as she had done with Catherine. If she were to forgive him at all. She knew exactly what Michael was like, he never ceased his assault until he got what he wanted. It worked for towards his success, and it surely worked with him towards women. She knew he was to blame for Catherine falling into bed with him. The way Tessa saw it, Catherine was as much a victim of Michael’s controlling ambition just as she was, if not even more so.

He was a shark cleverly disguised as a wholesome and innocent man, and she would have to be careful not to spill blood around him.

**LATER**

**THE WOODS**

Christopher thought discussing this _situation_ in the house was too formal and not a good idea with the children and various house staff walking around. Christopher was very cautious, perhaps paranoid, when it came to business dealings.

Luckily, Catherine was called away by the children not long after Michael arrived so she was not accompanying them on their walk through the woods. Their party included to guards scouting a head, then Michael and Tessa waling side-by-side with Christopher behind them, followed by two more guards bringing up the rear at a safe distance.

“It's good to see you.” Michael said honestly. He had his hands in his coat pockets, mirroring Tessa to make her feel more comfortable. He glanced at her. “I know you've got your hands full with the Nicolas Randall thing. I can't thank you enough for taking this on.”

Tessa didn’t respond, didn’t look at him. Christopher put his arm through the gap between the two to hand Tessa a file.

“Her name is Cynthia Baxter. She's 27.” Tessa opened the file to look through while Christopher spoke. “I've got rumors she might be talking.”

“And you can't fire her.” Tessa stated.

“Not without a nightmare on our hands. Look, as yet, she hasn't gone to the press. It'd like to put a stop to it before she does.”

“It's not right.” Michael said loudly. He glanced behind him at Christopher. “Makes me look like a dirty old man.

“I have to ask-”

“No.” Michael stopped on the trail. He turned to look at Tessa, choosing not to notice her pulling the file closer to her as if it were a shield. He spoke softly, his tone reflecting in his eyes. “I never, I would never. Not again. You've known me a long time, longer than anyone. Once, as terrible as it was, I would never do it again. There is too much pain and heartbreak – for everyone involved. You know there's only one person I love.”

Christopher saw it in Michael’s eyes as well as heard it in his voice. He was telling the truth, but not fully where the last part was concerned. He stepped in before Michael made a mistake. “Catherine and Michael are happy together, Tess. He'd have no reason to cheat.”

Although she was staring into Michael’s eyes, she spoke to Christopher. “And he had a reason to last time?”

Christopher sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He was begging to regret bringing Tessa out here. Her feelings were clouding her judgment. This was business, not personal. She never could separate the two.

Shocking everyone, including Tessa herself, she calmly said, “I'll handle it.” She looked over at Christopher. “Consider it handled.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOCIATES**

**LATE AFTERNOON**

           “Where are we?” Tessa called out to no one in particular as she walked through the French doors of the meeting room. Donna, appearing out of nowhere, came up behind Tessa and helped her take off her coat. The file Christopher gave her, Tessa firmly kept in her hands.

           “Waiting on the forensics of the gun to come in,” Donna reported. She also took Tessa’s purse and draped the coat over her arm and walked into Tessa’s office to hang them both up.

Tessa sat down at the wooden table, the lunch Donna had prepared for her already there. A garden salad with a small bowl of berries and a wine glass of water. Donna had a knack for nearly everything, especially if they involved food. She was sitting down to eat when Lyall burst through the doors whooping and loudly cheering,

“Whoo-hoo! Paige is a whore! Paige is a whore!” He dramatically slid across the floor like Tom Cruise in _Risky Business._ He held up a surveillance picture of a couple engaged in a passionate lip lock. “She was screwing some guy named Cory Groves. She canceled on the embassy party to meet up with him.” He happily taped the photo to the window of evidence, turning to Tessa with a broad smile. “We have another viable suspect! Paige is a whore!”

Donna hesitantly stepped into the doorframe of Tessa’s office to get an astonished look at Lyall. Tessa had the same feeling as both of them, but kept better guard of it. She simply ducked her head slightly to smile.

“I'm gonna run down Groves, see if I can make something stick.” Still grinning, Lyall dashed back out of the room. Moments later, they heard the distinct click of the front door opening and closing softly.

“Donna, I need you to find out everything you can about a Cynthia Baxter.” Tessa handed slid her the file across the table. “One hour and then I need you to come with me.”

Donna took the file and nodded. She began reading it as she walked out the French doors. Tessa sighed and leaned back in her chair. She briefly allowed herself to enjoy the momentary calm.

**CENTRAL PARK**

**ONE HOUR LATER**

            The park was thankfully as busy as it normally was. Tessa didn’t want to have to do this somewhere isolated; that was cheesy and predictable. Someplace crowded with witnesses always makes the target feel comfortable and at ease. That’s when there at their most vulnerable and more likely to go with whatever Tessa’s says.

            Tessa was silent as they walked the path to the more dog-friendly park section. People on bikes rode past her and Donna, jogger moved around them. Tessa was in no particular hurry, but she did want to get this _situation_ over with as soon as possible. She would do this and that would be the end of her involvement with Michael.

            “I’m acting as your witness?” Donna asked. She’s come along with Tessa on this sort of thing before when the ‘target’ was a woman – a disgruntled mistress was normally the case. Her only role was to stay by Tessa’s side and not say anything.

            Tessa spotted Cynthia Baxter a couple benches down, her dog sitting in front of her. She was cute – young, petite, blonde hair that came down to her shoulders. She wore jeans and a Boston Red Socks t-shirt. The way she smiled down at her dog made Tessa a little sad at what she was about to do. But she stowed her feelings away and thought only about the job.

            _“Business, not personal_ ,” Christopher’s motto chimed in her head.

           “Cute dog,” Tessa smiled kindly. She sat down on the same bench as Cynthia just a couple feet away. “Golden Retriever?”

           “Yeah. His name's Thomas Jefferson, which is lame, I know, but he's very presidential.” She looked down the dog and scratched under his chin. The dog smiled back up at her. “Aren't you, T.J.?”

           Tessa built up her walls, taking a moment to breathe. “Cynthia, it would be a mistake to think there will be no consequences to you telling lies about Mr. O’Rourke.”

           “H-How do you know my name?” Cynthia sounded scared. She looked from Tessa to Donna then back again. She held on tighter to T.J’s leash. “Who are you?”

           Tessa turned her full attention to the young woman. “My name is Tessa Reagan. And I want to be clear I'm not here on any official capacity. I'm only here to warn you, because you should know what could happen. It could become hard for you to find employment, your face would be everywhere. People would associate you with a sex scandal. All kinds of information about you would easily become available to the press. For example, you've had 22 sexual partners that we know of. Also, there's that ugly bout of gonorrhea.” Donna handed Tessa a small package which Tess in turn handed to Cynthia. With shaky fingers, Cynthia opened the package. Inside where photos of the twenty-two men.

           “And your family - your mother's mental illness, her psychotic break, two years at Bedford Hospital. I bet that's private. She runs a daycare now, right?”

           “He told me he loved me,” She said softly, her voice as well as her eyes were watery. “He gave me this dog.”

           Cynthia looked at her with pleading, desperate eyes. Tessa looked back at her with eyes that were cold and empty. “See, it's those kind of lies that could hurt you if you said them to other people; people not as nice as me. I'll give you some free advice: hand in your resignation and pack up your dog and your things and get in your car and go. Get out of New York. Find a small city - Minneapolis, maybe, or Denver - get a little job, meet a boring boy, make some friends.” Tessa put her arm on the back of the bench and leaned in. “Because in this city, your career is over. You're done.”

           Cynthia could barely hold back the sobs. Her hands were shaking, Tessa could almost hear the girl’s heart beating out of her chest. She was beyond scared. “Why are you doing this to me? I'm a good person.”

           “Good people don’t spread lies about a man that is far more powerful than the president. You should be grateful it was only me and not some other nightmare that got to you first.”

            Cynthia stood up. She yanked at her dog’s leash to make him follow closer to her as she rapidly left. She kept looking back over her shoulder at Tessa and Donna. When the young woman and her dog were out of sight, Tessa let herself relax. She closed her eyes and sighed.

            “I know you hate doing those.”

            “Yeah, well, that doesn’t make it any easier.” Tessa stood up and stared pointedly at Donna. “If you get subpoenaed in front of a grand jury, you can testify as an officer of the court that I was working on my own. I didn't blackmail or threaten her. If you don't get subpoenaed, this never happened.”

            It was the same speech Tessa gives whoever accompanies her after handling a situation like one of these. The situations never escalate into warranting a subpoena, but Tessa was taught to be cautious.

           Donna nodded. “Understood.”

            Tessa pulled out her phone and dialed Christopher’s number as she and Donna left the park. Before he could open his mouth, she said, “It's handled,” before hanging up on him.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOCIATES**

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

            Tessa sat on the corner of her desk watching the news. On the screen was Michael and Catherine O’Rourke disembarking from a helicopter with the children in tow. Christopher gets off the helicopter last. The setting sun painted a beautiful background.

           _“Michael O’Rourke, a man feared to be even more powerful and more globally respected than the President, is returning to New York from a brief vacation in New Haven with his family. Tonight, they will be hosting a dinner for President Sarkozy and the French first lady at the Governor’s Mansion. This will be President Sarkozy’s first stop in the United States before heading to the White House to meet with President Obama tomorrow evening. Relations between O’Rourke and Sarkozy grow stronger while relations with President Obama grow weaker-”_

Tessa muted the TV reporter and dialed Christopher.

_“Christopher Neilson.”_ Tessa watched on the television as Christopher answered his phone.

“Put him on. I just need a second.”

On the screen, she saw Christopher hand he phone to Michael as he waved to the cameras. Over the phone, she faintly heard, “ _Tessa needs you.”_

Michael looked slightly surprised, yet delighted to hear that. He took the phone and answered with a smile. Tessa was ashamed she felt a small pang of happiness that she was the one that put the smile on his face. “Hi, Tess.”

“Did you buy her a dog?” Tessa asked without preamble.

_“What?”_ On the screen, he looked confused.

Tessa stood up and walked closer to the screen. “Just answer the question.”

_“No, of course not. Why do you ask?”_

“Do me a favor. Turn your head a little to the left…” She watched the screen carefully as Michael hesitantly turned his head. He spotted the cameras and smiled. He knew she was watching him.

_“Did I pass your gut test?”_ His tone conveyed amusement, but underneath was….something else.

“Sorry. Forget I asked. Thank you, Michael.” She hung up the phone.

She held it to her lips as she continued to watch the screen. Michael was still looking at the cameras, but his attention was pulled away when Catherine took his hand. He smiled down at her, kissing her cheek. Tessa looked away. She felt that was an intimate moment she shouldn’t be watching.

Gabriel walked in, buttoning the cuffs of a fresh white dress shirt. “Randall’s on the crawl on the big three cable news stations. Network news is still hours away, but Diane Sawyer's already sniffing.”

Lyall came in, brandishing a piece of paper in his hand. “I've got good, I've got bad, I've got ugly. Which one first?”

“Good,” both Gabriel and Tessa chorused.

“The good – Cory Groves spilled his guts the minute I leaned on him. Bad - he has an airtight alibi. He was working as a bouncer at a club at the time of the murder. Ugly - Groves claims that Randall knew he was sleeping with his girlfriend,” Lyall pointed towards Gabriel’s office which held Nicolas Randall, “which gives Randall motive.”

“Even uglier,” Donna announced as she walked in, “gun used in the murder has Randall's prints all over it, which gives him means.”

Tessa’s face contorted in anger. “Damn it.”

She stormed past the group, through the meeting room and flung open the doors to Gabriel’s office. Randall was still sitting on the couch Tessa had left him on. He looked confused by the expression on her face, but when he opened his mouth, Tessa cut him off. She points her finger at him and stares intensely.

“Did you know Paige was sleeping with Cory Groves?”

“What?” Randall looked over his shoulder at Gabriel who crossed his arms.

“Did. You. Know!”

“I hired you. You can't come in here and-”

Tessa turns her back and walks away. Gabriel steps up and starts yelling. “Yes, she can. She can do whatever the hell she wants, because without her, you are definitely going to jail! My guess is 20 years, but if they get fancy, a life sentence is a possibility. Is that what you want?”

Tessa came back in, more calm but still fumeing. “Did you know Paige was sleeping with Cory Groves?”

Randal hung his head, rubbing the back on his neck with his hand. “Yeah.” Tessa sighed, her hands on her hips and bent forward slightly. “Yeah, I knew.”

Everyone began talking at once – Gabriel to Donna and Tessa to Lyall.

“Look over our statement-” Gabriel instructed Donna as Tessa was ordering,

“Get me five soldiers-”

“Make sure it uses the words ‘war hero’."

“Preferably with bars on their uniforms, who are willing to attest to Randall's heroism and kindness-”

“And get our defense attorney down here.”

“On the record!”

“Wait.” Randall shouted over the uproar of new orders. He stood up and held out his hand, pleading. “Wait. I did not kill Paige. Paige….” He sighed. “She slept around a lot before. I would've forgiven her. But I didn't kill her. You have to believe me.”

Tessa walked closer to Randall. She was urging him to understand the importance of what she was saying. “Nicolas, your fingerprints are on the gun.”

“That's because I picked it up off of the floor.” He stated mater-of-fatly. He looked at everyone in the room before returning his attention to Tessa. “I am a soldier and I have looked into the faces of men as I killed them. I know what it means to take a life. I don't know how a person could do this to someone they love. I loved Paige. She was my best friend. I did not kill her.”

It was a showdown of wills as Tessa and Randall stared each other down. Tessa did not take her eyes off of his even as she turned to walk away, back to her office. She stood by her desk, hands on her hips, trying to control her angry breathing. Gabriel and Lyall followed her in and shut the door behind them.

           “Find me somebody, _anybody_ , who can say they saw Sully at the time of the murder. Make his alibi stick.” Tessa walked around her desk and sat down.

“Tess.”

Tessa got back up and walked over to Lyall. “I believe him. Lyall, I _believe_ _him_. Go make his alibi stick.”

“I'll get the car,” Gabriel sighed. He was about to walk out the door behind the disgruntled teenager, but Tessa touched his arm.

“In a minute.”

“What?”

Tessa held his arm and guided him to the small couch in the corner of her office. She picked up a wooden box from under the coffee table and placed it on top of the glass. “Open it.”

Gabriel did as he was told, his finger’s slightly trembling as he flicked the golden latch. Inside the box were bands – silver, gold, and wooden. All the same size, all different designs and carvings in each band. No two band was alike.

“They're engagement rings,” he said softly, running the tip of his thumb over them.

“Yes.” Tessa smiled.

Gabriel looked up at her. “They're engagement rings.”

“For getting engaged,” she spoke slower, pronouncing each word. “And in your case, re-engaged.” Seeing that he was unsure, Tessa kept talking him through it. “Christopher made a reservation-”

“He did?” Gabriel looked up, amusingly shocked.

“Alright, _I_ made the reservation, but it’s under his name.” She smiled at him. She felt as excited as she did years ago when Christopher came to her wanting to propose to Gabriel. She had to make the reservation then, too. “Best table with the best chief and the best wine. Christopher is picking you up so all you have to do is pick a ring and look handsome.”

“What if he laughs, huh? What if he doesn’t like it?” Gabriel stared timidly at the small box of rings in his lap. “What if I say the wrong thing or – or forget to propose entirely?”

“Gabriel,” Tessa said softly. She placed a hand on his cheek and moved his head so that he was looking at her. She looked at him with nothing but warmth and love and admiration. “As long as I've known you, you've dated a series of men I can only describe as trashy and too young for you and most of all, stupid. Christopher is funny and fun and _old enough_ and brilliant. And best of all, he’s already yours.” Gabriel smiled at her. “You don’t have to propose tonight if you don’t want to. This was your idea, to feel what he felt when he proposed to you. And I can tell you this much, you’re feeling it.”

“Chris was not this much of a wreck when he proposed.”

“No, honey, he was worse.” Tessa chuckled. “He didn’t know which ring you’d like or what restaurant to take you to because we were all dirty poor law students. He wasn’t even sure you’d say ‘yes’. He wanted to make that night special and unforgettable and make you fall in love with him all over again so that you would say yes to spending the rest of your lives together.”

“Hot dogs and flat beer down by the wharf. The tide almost hit us coming in.” Gabriel chuckled, looking down at his own engagement-wedding bands. He looked up at Tessa. “How am I going to top that?”

“By turning the tables and proposing right back to him.” She took the box out of Gabriel’s lap and held it up. “You wanted something different for your anniversary and I am giving it to you. Let that man know you’d marry him all over again, so pick a damn ring already so we can go find an alibi for Nicolas Randall.”

Tessa gave him an encouraging smile. He smiled back and reached for the box. He held up a ring made of dark African wood that had pure silver inlays. Gabriel could see that it was already engraved on the inside – _Here’s to ten more._

“He'll like this one,” he said softly, admiring the workmanship. Handmade, Gabriel presumed.

“Excellent choice.” She produced a small blue velvet box. She took the ring from Gabriel, placed it carefully inside, closed the box, and handed it back to him with a smile. “Now go find me an alibi.”

**LATER**

Tessa was catching up on her e-mails and writing reports that she has neglected in her office. Everything was calm and quiet in the office so when she heard a commotion she became curious. She got up from her chair and left her office. The voices were raised, but they were too muffled for her to make out what was being said. It must be coming from outside the offices, in the lobby.

            As Tessa got closer to the secure door that lead out of the office, she could hear the voices more clearly. One of them belonged to Cynthia Baxter.

           “I want to see her.” Cynthia was yelling.

“She's not available,” Donna was telling her. She didn’t sound mad or upset, just reasonable.

“I want to see her!”

“She's not available.”

“Let me through!” Cynthia banged on the reinforced security door. Tessa took that as her que to enter. She opened the door and as Cynthia tried to enter, she pushed her back out. Tessa closed the door behind her. “I want you to give him a message.”

“That's not appropriate.” Tessa took Cynthia by the arm, not hard enough to hurt but enough to forcibly remove her.

“Not appropriate? Not appropriate!? You came to me, and I know he sent you.” Tessa opened the front door and walked Cynthia through it and to the elevator. “I know you can give him a message.”

“This conversation is over. Please leave.”

“I quit my job, okay?” Cynthia was half in – half out of the elevator, a security guard Donna had called for was in the elevator had a hold on one of her arms. “I did it. Now please give him a message!”

“Marlon, take her down.” Tessa ordered the guard. As she backed away to leave, Cynthia made a grab for her. Tessa tore herself away. “Do not let her back up!”

“I'm telling the truth! I am!” Cynthia pleaded as she elevator doors shut in her face. She banged her hand on the glass to get Tessa’s attention back.

As Cynthia’s elevator went down, another came up and docked. The doors opened and US Attorney Samuel Lynch stepped out flanked by Tessa’s brother, Detective Danny Reagan, and his partner, Detective King. They were also accompanied by two uniformed officers.

           “Time's up, Tess.” Sam held up the piece of paper in his hand. “I have a warrant.”

           Tessa looked down at her watch as she strode back into the lobby of her offices. “I still have forty minutes, Sam.”

Sam and the rest of the group followed her in. “Fine. Forty minutes and then I want Nicolas Randall in handcuffs.”

“You stay out here. Nobody walks through this door.” She ordered Donna as she opened the security door with her key-code off to the side and stepped through. When the door was safely closed, she pulled out her phone and dialed Lyall.

“We've been invaded. Time is up.”  

**OUTSIDE MATTY’S PUB**

            Lyall hung up with Tessa as he came out of the bar. The sun had set, but there were still hints of light. The streetlamps hadn’t begun flickering on yet. Gabriel was waiting for him on the sidewalk, a rather smug look on his face. Lyall chose to ignore it because ‘smug’ was practically Gabriel’s default resting face.

           “I showed Randall's picture to everyone in the bar. No one saw him the night of the murder, and Tessa’s got cops in the lobby. He's finished.”

“Maybe not.” Gabriel’s smugness evolved into a braod grin as he pointed above them. Lyall looked up and saw security cameras from United-Confidence Bank. One of them was point straight at the bar.  

**BANK SECURITY OFFICE**

            Lyall came back into the security room carrying a large pizza box and a rolled wad of cash. Before they could see the tapes, the security guard, Howie, had some demands. Now twenty minutes behind the clock and getting nowhere, Tessa agreed to the deal.

           “I have $500 in cash and a pizza.” He handed the security guard the cash but kept hold of the pizza.

“Deep dish, sausage and mushroom?” The old man held tight to the money as he gazed skeptically into the pizza box Lyall had opened for him.

“Yeah.”

Once Howie was satisfied, he smiled a toothless smile. Gabriel bent down to Howie’s ear and calmly reminded him, “We have a ticking clock here, Howie.”

“I'm counting.” Howie waved off Gabriel, but e was having none of that. He closed the pizza box and spun Howie around in his chair until he was facing the monitors. Lyall too the pizza box from Howie’s lap.

“Last night, between 10:00 and midnight, the bank camera that points northeast towards Matty's pub.” Gabriel directed him. It took a couple key strokes but soon they were in the ball park. “Speed through…Stop. Right there.”

“Is...Is that Randall?” Lyall asked, his eyes going wide. He leaned in closer to the screen to try and make sense of what he was seeing.

Smiling, Gabriel patted Howie on the shoulders. “We're gonna need a copy of that.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOCIATES**

**GABRIEL’S OFFICE**

            Randall was sitting on the couch, his hands together and his leg furiously tapping up and down. He was anxious. He knew the police and the US Attorney were outside in the lobby waiting to arrest him. Nicolas sent out a quick prayer in hopes that something would save him.

            As if immediately answering his prayer, Tessa walked through the office doors with Donna right behind him. After receive the call from Gabriel, she told him and Lyall to pack it all and head in. A copy of the surveillance tape was e-mailed to her.

           “We don't have a lot of time. The police are here, so I need you to listen.” Tessa stood behind the coffee table in front of Nicolas. Donna closed the doors behind her and stood motionless off to the side.

           “What's going on?” By the looks on their faces, he could only hope it was good news.

“We were able to verify your alibi.”

Randall stood up, unsure if he should smile or not. “You were? That's-That's a good thing, right”

“Nicolas, you're the most decorated hero since the Vietnam War, you come from a family of soldiers, you make your living giving speeches for the conservative right, and you've said over and over, Jennifer was your ‘best friend’.” She spoke softly and with kindness. Nicolas knew this tone – he’d heard it from commanding officers when they informed companies of the death toll, knowing that many of them were friends. “Not your _lover_ , your best friend.”

Tessa nodded to Donna. The silent red-haired woman moved around the desk and brought up a video file. She turned the screen so that Nicolas could see. She hit play. Before his eyes, Nicolas could see himself from last night, pacing the pavement outside Matty’s Pub. He knew what was going to happen next. He stiffened up, becoming defensive, his fists forming into balls. A man stepped outside of the pub and walked over to Nicolas. Nicolas was the first to pull the other man in for a loving kiss. Donna paused the video on that image.

“Jennifer knew, didn’t she? She was your best friend, she knew you were gay. The two of you had a deal.”

“You can't show that tape to anyone.” Nicolas whispered angrily.

“I need the name of the man you were kissing.”

“You can't show that tape,” Nicolas repeated himself, louder this time, “and you can't have a name.”

“It's your alibi, Nicolas.” She whispered. She begged him to understand with her eyes, but he was stubborn.

“No. I'm-” Nicolas bit the words off that were coming out of his mouth. He took a deep breath. “You cannot tell people that I am gay. I am a hero.”

“The police have a warrant for your arrest.” Donna reminded him. “All due respect, people finding out you're gay is no big deal compared to that.”

“No!” Nicolas shouted, taking a step towards her. “I am a hero. I honor the uniform.

“Nicolas-” Tessa reached out for him, but he swung across to her and yelled in her face,

“I honor the uniform!”

The room was quite. No one moved. Nicolas pulled back from Tessa’s face and limped over to the door.

“Nicolas, look at me.” Nicolas paused by the door. “The rules have changed. Don't ask, don't tell is over.”

“That is talk!” He yelled, slamming his hand against the glass door. Donna jumped slightly, surprised that the glass didn’t break under the force. Tess remained calm. With every sentence that angrily flowed from his mouth he limped a step closer to Tessa. “I am a conservative republican! I am publicly anti-gay! I am the deacon in my church. They're talking about me running for Congress one day.” Now he was perhaps a foot from Tessa. He lowered his voice, but the heat was still there. And so was the pain he was feeling. “I am Captain Nicolas Randall. I'm a hero. I can not _be_ gay.”

“But you are.” Tessa said, her voice slightly cracking. Her tone as heartfelt and pleading. This is does not deserve to go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit all because of whom he loves. “ _This_ who you are. _This_ is your alibi.” She pointed to the kiss on the screen. A kiss so full of love strongly contrasted the complete hatred of the room. “Let us help you.”

It was quiet. Nicolas’ breathing had calmed, his fists unbaled. Tessa truly thought she had gotten through to him, but she was wrong.

“No.” With one word, he turned on his heel and threw open the doors. His head held high and Tessa on his heels, he limped as dignifiedly as he could towards the lobby.

“Nicolas. Nicolas!”

Tessa stopped in the hallway when Nicolas threw open the door. He turned around and placed his hands together behind his back. Danny waved forward his partner to cuff Nicolas.

           “Nicolas Randall, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided to you-” King read Nicolas his rights.

            Tessa looked defeated as she walked closer to her client. She held onto the door for support. King walked Nicolas down the hallway, accompanied by the uniformed officers. Sam handed Tessa the arrest warrant and nodded to her. He wanted to say more to her, but he figured Danny would be able to deal with it.

            “Are you okay?” Danny asked his baby sister, placing his hand over hers on the doorframe.

            “You just arrested my client, Danny.” She looked up at him, broken. “How do you think I’m doing?”

            “Look,” Danny leaned in closer so no one else but Tessa could hear what he was saying. “You were right to buy time with Lynch. My gut is telling me something. I know you feel it, too.” He pulled back and took his hand off the door. “Now you can either mope in there or you can follow your client and do what he’s paying you too much for.”

            Tessa turned to go back in and get her coat, but Donna was already holding it out for her along with her purse. Tessa smiled gratefully and nodded.

            “Tell the boys to turn around and head to the prescient. I want all hands.”

            The door closed behind the brother-sister duo. Donna returned to her desk and made the calls, first to Gabriel and then to their defense attorney. Tessa was good, but she always stayed away from the court rooms. That was her sister’s territory.

            Donna was throwing her pink coat over her shoulders to head out to the police station when her desk phone rang. “Law offices of Reagan & Associates. How may I help you?”

            _“May I speak with Tessa Reagan, please?”_

            “I’m sorry, but Ms. Reagan is unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?”

           _“Yes, uh, I’m Doctor Patel from Mount Sinai Hospital. I have a Cynthia Baxter under my care. There was nothing with her when they brought her in except her driver’s license and Ms. Reagan’s business card.”_

            “Cynthia Baxter?” Donna almost dropped the phone. “Are you able to tell me why Ms. Baxter is in the hospital?”

            _“She tried to kill herself.”_

**POLICE STATION - PRECINT 54**

            Lyall rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He dodged various police officers with ease, quickly flashing his laminated ‘visitors’ pass. He spotted Tessa with Gabriel not far into the bull pen of the 12th precinct.

           “Reporters are starting to gather outside.” Lyall reported.

“Crap.” Tessa pinched the bridge of her nose. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes. “Okay, our defense attorney's with Nicolas now, but it doesn't seem optimistic.”

“What do we do?” Gabriel asked.

“We can't use the alibi.” Tessa firmly stated.

“Can we leak it?” Lyall nonchalantly suggested.

Tessa shook her head. “He's our client. We have to do at he wants.” She threw her hands in the air. “I hate this!” A beep from her phone brought her a reality check. It was a text message from Donna. She was at the hospital with Cynthia Baxter. “I-I have to go.”

“Now?” Gabriel asked.

Tessa looked up from texting Donna that she was on her way. “It's after 6:00. They won't arraign him till morning. I'll be back.” She pointedly looked at Gabriel. “Get in to see Nicolas. See if you can change his mind.”

Tessa walked away, stopping by her brother’s desk to kiss his cheek and tell him she was leaving. It always amazed Lyall how she could go from hard-ass fixer, taking shit from no one, to loving sister who can get her hot-headed pig brother to pull strings.

It was Gabriel’s turn for his phone to go off. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was a text message from Christopher. He was waiting at the office and no one was there.

“What? What is it?” Lyall asked. He was getting annoyed.

“I forgot to tell Christopher I was here and not the office. He’s supposed to pick me up….” He pulled up his keyboard and sighed. “I’m cancelling.”

“Whoa!” Lyall yelled, snatching Gabriel’s phone from his hand.

“Lyall, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell do you think _you’re_ doing?” Lyall quickly texted Christopher back before handing Gabriel back the phone. “Now he knows where you are and is coming to get you.”

Gabriel didn’t know what to say. He was stunned. He opened his mouth to say something profound, but Lyall waved him off. “If you would have missed tonight, you would be mopeing arounf the office for weeks. I don’t want to have to deal with that; ecsepecailly if Chris kicks you out and you temporaily move into the office. That’s my space.”

Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He knew Lyall well enough to know this was an emotional ploy to make Gabriel think his motives were purely selfish. He nodded and patted Lyall’s arm.

“Thank you.”

“Get down on one knee,” Lyall shouted after Gabriel. “Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean it’s not cute!”

**MOUNT SINAI HOSPITAL**

            Cynthia was in an isolated room on constant watch from the nurse. She was sleeping now, so the nurses came by only twice an hour rather than one every ten minutes. Her arms were viable from where they rested on her chest. Tessa could see the pristine white bandages with lines of crimson. Tessa and Donna stood outside the glass door. All the walls in the suicide-watch rooms were windows.

           “What happened?”

           “She slashed her wrists.”

           “Any press sniffing around?”

           “No. No one. One of the nurses told me her dad's flying in. He’ll be here in the morning.”

           “Okay. She hasn't spoken anyone ...no nurses or doctors about anything?”

           “Just to me.”

           “Good. Stay with her.” Tessa turned her back and began walking away. Donna called out, stopping her.

           “Tessa. You said to trust your gut. My gut says she's telling the truth.”

           “She's not, Donna. That is what my gut is telling me.”

           “How do you know?”

           “Because I know the Michael.”

           “Yes, you do. And that’s the problem. You know he’s cheated before, on you, yet you fail to see that he’s done it again. I don’t know how, but you are.” Donna glanced over at Cynthia. She looked as helpless as child, and just as small too. “I don’t think she’s crazy. And I don’t think she did it.”

           In all the years Tessa has known Donna, there was only one time Donna defied her. And that was when Tessa was trying to send her husband to prison for extreme domestic violence. She was more curious than aggravated at being defied. She crossed her arms. “Tell me why.”

           “She tried to kill herself, but she didn't want to die. She had your name, your card on her when they found her because she wanted him to find out she was hurt and come see her. She thought he would do that.”

           “Donna-”

           “She was going on and on and on about how she thought he'd come and call her ‘my dove’ and everything would be fine-”

           Tessa held up her hand. Her eyes were wide. “What?”

“What?” Donna repeated.

           “What did you say?” Tessa took a step closer to Donna.

           “That he'd come if she was hurt.”

           “And he would call her...” Tessa lead Donna

           “’My dove’.’”

            Ignoring the rest of whatever Donna had to say, Tessa turned on her heel and walked out of the ward. Her mind was spinning. She was confused and hurt and _angry_. Not just at herself for not trusting her gut but at him for making her. She believed him…….against her better judgment, she believed him.    

**THE NEW YORK STATE EXECUTIVE MANSION**

**GOVENOR’S RESIDENCE**

          “Where is he?” Tessa asked as patiently as she could as Veronica opened the door to Governor Paterson’s private study.

           “It'll just be a moment.” Veronica showed Tessa inside and closed the door behind them. She would wait by the door until Michael came in, partly because it was her job but also to make sure Tessa didn’t do or say anything….inappropriate. Considering who the guests of honor are tonight, everyone is extra cautious.

            Looking at Veronica, Tessa felt grossly underdressed. The woman was wearing an Ivonne D light gold with hints of dark silver chiffon, tulle, and lace trumpet gown that held the illusion of lace three-quarter length sleeves and a beaded bateau neckline over a lace sweetheart bodice that dropped the waist dramatically. The trumpet skirt gathered tulle at the waist and carried a sweep train. She paired it with a single gold bracelet and drop earrings.

            Veronica smiled kindly at Tessa’s admiration of the gown. Michael must pay his employees considerably. The dress was perhaps in the ball park of a thousand dollars.

            It was another ten minutes before the door opened again. Veronica held it open for Michael as he walked in. He looked handsome in a well-tailored tuxedo. His bow tie was a navy blue for his French guests.

            “Tessa? This is a surprise.” He smiled at her. She didn’t respond. She looked at him with hurt and betrayal, much like on the night she gave him back the engagement ring in the hospital. Michael lost him smile. He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder to Veronica, yet his eyes never leaving Tessa’s face. “We're gonna need the room, please.”

           “Sir,” Veronica stepped forward, patting the sleek, black portfolio in her hands. “You have to give that toast to the president of France in ten minutes.”

            With Christopher gone to enjoy his anniversary, Veronica took his place as Michael’s number two. Michael turned to her fully this time. His face was expressionless, making him all the more intimidating.

            “We need the room.”

            Michael rarely repeated himself. Veronica glanced over his shoulder at Tessa, who barely held control over her emotions, before looking back at Michael and nodding. Silently, she turned and walked out. The door closed behind her softly with a click.

            Michael took a moment to collect his thoughts. When he turned to Tessa, he spoke her name like a mournful caress, “Tessa.”

           “My dove?” She whispered. “My….my dove” She bit out the last with a watery chuckle.

            Michael said nothing, offered nothing to defend himself. He didn’t deny it. He knew. She knew. He wasn’t about to lie to her again, not when it was just the two of them.

            “You left me,” was all Michael said. He sounded like a broken man. Lost.

            “You left me first,” She whispered back. Michael slowly walked towards her. “Do not touch me.” He lifted his hand and reached out to her. Tessa took a step back. “Do not touch me. Please don’t-” she whimpered, but Michael’s hand was already on her hip and pulling her against him.

           He held her there with one hand. She felt the warmth of their bodies pressed against one another. Felt his heartbeat in his stomach. She felt his hand slowly stroking her hip, sending shivers down her spine. She could smell him – natural musk, heady smoke, and bourbon. It was intoxicating, all these feelings.

           His head slowly bent over hers until their noses scraped. Tessa struggled to breathe. He raised his other hand and cupped her face. Their lips were inches apart, but he held himself back. Every move he made was deliberate. He wanted Tessa to want him as much as he wanted her.

            “Look at me,” He breathed softly. His hand stroked her hair, his other her hip. “Look at me.” Tessa turned her head away. She could feel his lips moving against her ear. “Look at me.”

            “Did you give her that dog?” She whispered.

            “Tess…” He breathed, pulling her tighter.

            She turned her head back to him, finally looking at him. She wanted him to know her pain. All she saw in him was desperate desire. She searched for her voice, finally finding it.

            “Did you give her that dog?”

            Michael bent his face closer. “I love you.”

            Tessa’s mouth opened in disgust. She pushed him away and he let her go. He had the power to keep her with him, but he didn’t use it. Her face twisted in newfound betrayal and hatred. She didn’t hold back the tears that came. He reached out his hand, but she slapped him.

            “I believed you. You clouded judgment.” She accused him venomously. Her voice broke, but she kept going. “You made me mistrust my _gut_ because I wanted to believe you!” Michael was walking towards her again, but Tessa kept backing away. “I destroyed that girl! She tried to kill herself.”

Michael’s longer legs won out. He was on her in seconds, his hands holding her face and his mouth covering hers. His lips were heavy against hers, tasting of cream desserts and bourbon. Tessa couldn’t fight him. He moved his mouth expertly over hers. When his tongue begged access and she did not respond, he used his thumb to gently pull down her chin. For an unwelcomed kiss, he was sweet with her. He didn’t move fast, but held a steady pace. The more he kissed her, the more she wanted to be kissed. She found herself beginning to respond when the door opened up.

Tessa tore herself away from Michael as Veronica stepped in. “Sir, we can hear you screaming-”

Tessa’s back was turned to them. She tried regaining her composure as she fixed herself in the window. Michael stood still where he was, starring at the wall in front of him. The room was silent, save Veronica’s heels clicking as she walked further into the room.

“Mr. O’Rourke, you want to go clean up.”

“Veronica-”

“No.” Her voice was authoritative. She held his gaze unflinchingly. She was polite, but stern. “You have lipstick on your mouth. You need to clean up.”

Michael dapped the back on his hand to his mouth. When he pulled it away, he could see Tessa’s red lip stick stains. Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa could see Michael nod. He didn’t glace back at Tessa when he walked past Veronica and out the door.

The two women stood silently. Tessa turned and faced her. She tried to masquerade her embarrassment and shame, but Veronica could see past it. She took out a handkerchief from the black portfolio she carried and held it out to Tessa. Tessa hesitantly walked over and took it.

“Thank you, Ms. Gadd.”

As Tessa cleaned the lipstick off of her mouth, Veronica thought the situation over. She came to a decision by the time Tessa handed her back the handkerchief.

“Is this going to be a problem, Ms. Reagan?” Veronica asked curtly, tucking away the red stained cloth. She looked up at Tessa with a purely business expression. “I’d like to know now before it does.”

“No, Ms. Gadd, there will not.”

            Veronica nodded. She turned and gestured with her hand to the door. Tessa picked up her purse from the desk and walked to the door. She paused there, her hand on the door knob. Her eyes closed briefly, taking a moment to collect herself.

            “Goodnight, Ms. Gadd,” Tessa called over her shoulder when she regained her composure.

            “Goodnight, Ms. Reagan.”

            She opened the door to two men in tailored suits. She recognized them as Michael’s guards. She ignored them as she walked between them. If she was to be escorted out, she would do it with dignity.

**POLICE STATION - PRECINT 54**

            She could hear the sirens from outside. They were loud and always brought the feeling of something bad. She knew they weren’t for her, but they still scared her.

            Danny had moved Nicolas to the interrogation room when she called to tell him she was heading over. Danny picked up that something was wrong, but she lied and avoided the question. She was good at that. She didn’t like her family knowing what she felt; she feared they might think her weak. Weakness in a Reagan was reserved for children.

            When she walked into the sterile, stainless steel interrogation room, Nicolas wasn’t there. She was confused until she glanced around. He was there, just not at the table. Instead, he was sitting on the floor just underneath the two-way mirror. He didn’t look at her when she came in or when she slid down the wall beside him. He stared straight ahead at the window that looked out into the bullpen.

           “We may never know who killed Paige. This isn't about you not going to jail for Paige's murder.” She started softly. She didn’t have the energy to be strong and passionate. She could barely breathe without crying. She was tired. And so was Nicolas.

Getting no hint of response, she turned her head to look at him. “This is about you not living a lie. Nicolas, I saw that kiss. You love that man, _whoever_ he is, you love him. You have been living with a secret for a really long time. I know what that's like. I honestly do. And you think you're doing it for the right reasons. You think you're doing it for your country and for the people who look up to you, but the thing is, who you are, who you _love_ that shouldn't be a secret. It shouldn't have to be a secret, should it?”

Nicolas still gave no response. He didn’t move. Tessa wasn’t sure if he was even breathing. He was motionless and emotionless. She turned away from him and shook her head. She tired her absolute best, she can honestly say that with a clear conscience, but she could not help someone who didn’t want to be helped. That was on him.

She was getting up to leave him when he finally spoke up. Her hand was on the door when he whispered,

“John Latimer.”

Tessa twirled around, stunned. He looked at her, a tear rolling out of the corner of his eye and down his cheek.

“His name is John Latimer and I do…love him.”  

**NICOLAS RANDALL PRESS CONFERENCE**

**SATURDAY AFTERNOON**

           Gabriel had outdone himself. Nicolas stood behind a podium dressed in full dress alphas, his Medal of Honor proudly clasped around his neck. Surrounding him were men and women from each branch of the service in their dress uniforms. Behind them were their service flags.

            Nicolas scanned the crowd of cameras, flashing lights, and egger reporters and journalists. He was anxious. His hands gripped the sides of the podium until his knuckles were white. When his eyes finally landed on Tessa, on her kind and supporting face, he could feel himself relaxing. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for what he was about to do. He poised himself to appear stoically strong.

           “I am honored to have served my country. I am honored to have been injured serving my country. And just as importantly, I am honored to be a gay man who served my country.”

            At that, the room erupted into a series of blinding camera flashes and volumes roars of questions. Tessa smiled.

            “So,” a voice drawled from behind her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Danny walk up next to her, his hands in his pockets. “Soldier boy is innocent, huh. He didn’t kill Jennifer.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Any ideas who did?”

            “Now Detective,” Tessa turned to face her brother, a wide grin on her lips. “I can’t solve all your cases for you. Finding the girl’s killer is your job, remember?”

            “That weird kid of yours dropped off all your evidence. Maybe some of that will help.”

            “’That weird kid’ is smarter than your whole precinct combined.”

            Danny threw his arm over Tessa’s shoulders. He kissed her forehead, his stubble scratching her. “Is that so?”

            “Buy me lunch and I’ll tell you all about it.” As they were walking out, Tessa reminded him, “Did you drop off the roast, yet?”

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME**

**BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN**

**SUNDAY**

The table was set and the family was gathering to eat. Sean and Jack, Danny and Linda’s two boys, ran into the dining room chased by Nicky, Erin’s daughter.

            “Easy there,” Henry, Tessa grandfather, chuckled. He lightly smacked Jack on the rear with his cane. “Old man walking through.”

            “Only as old as you feel, pops,” Tessa smiled, kissing Henry on the cheek as she walked past him with a bowl of green beans in her hands.

            “And I feel pretty dang old with these munchkins running around.” He sat down on the end of the table with a sigh. “In my day, I could outrun every one of you.”

            “Now you’ll just out talk us.” Danny remarked. He chuckled when Henry glared at him.

            “Danny?” Frank smiled.

            Danny clasped his hands and bowed his head, the family followed suit. As he said grace, Jamie walked in through the back door. He sat down in time to say ‘Amen’.

            “Look who decided to join us,” Erin said. She looked past him at the kitchen door, confused. “Where’s Sydney?”

            “In Greenwhich with her folks.” He answered, laying a napkin in his lap.

            “More for us,” Henry winked at Sean.

            “I don’t want any peas,” Jack whined to his mother as Linda spooned some on his plate.

            “Yes you do,” she told him. She reached over his plate and did the same to Sean.

            Tessa smiled at her nephews. She was spooning mashed sweet potatoes onto her plate when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She passed the potatoes to Erin. She dug the phone out of her pocket to check the caller ID.

            “No phones at the table, Aunt Tessie,” Nicky reminded her.

            “Normally you’re right, sweetie, but I’ve got to take this one.” She apologized as she got up. “Excuse me everyone,” She didn’t answer the phone until she was standing outside the kitchen door on the back porch. Her back was turned to the kitchen window so her family couldn’t see the anger on her face.

            “No. Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

            “He wants to see you, Tess.”

            “Tell him to go to hell.”

            “I’m just the messenger.”

            Tessa glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen window. She could see her family laughing at something Henry was saying. She was just in time to caught Jamie spitting out his water, causing the table to laugh harder. She caught her father’s eyes. They crinkled in the corner with good humor, a smile on his lips underneath his masculine trade-mark mustache.

            It killed her inside to know how disappointed he would be in her if he knew who she was when she wasn’t with the family; what lengths she went to for her clients and how she did it. He would hate her most assuredly as she hated herself. And now with Michael back in the picture, she couldn’t think of a way to spare him.

            She turned away. She needed to focus. She needed to be Tessa Reagan the woman who fixed problem and managed global crisis. She couldn’t be Frank Reagan’s little girl.

            “You tell him that he better hope to God Cynthia Baxter doesn't want to come forward with her story, because she just became my client.”

She hung up on him with a forceful click of the ‘end call’ button of her blackberry. She held the phone to her lips. When she came back in, Jamie noticed her shifted mood.

           “Who was that?” He asked around a mouthful of roast.

           “Someone I want to strangle.” She lifted the glass of white wine to her lips and sipped.

           “No strangling on Sundays, okay Sunshine?” Frank smiled, passing her the roast.

           “Okay, daddy.” She smiled sweetly back at him.

           As they sat around and enjoyed each other’s company, Tessa couldn’t help but let her mind wander to what she had just done. She had just waged war against one of the most powerful men in the country. On a Sunday no less.

           He had political backing and a private army supplied with dangerous men. She would have to be extremely careful about how she played out this cat-mouse game if she wanted to keep her family out of it. It was inevitable with everyone’s public stature, but she could at least prolong it a little more.


	3. Chapter 3

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**TESSA REAGAN’S OFFICE**

            Tessa Reagan and her client, Sharon Marcelles, sat in Tessa’s office waiting for news from Gabriel and Donna. She turned on the TV to make sure their case hadn’t made it to the news.

             “ _Tomorrow is expected to be a defining moment for the Obama administration, as tenth Circuit Chief Justice Ronald Kurt is considered the front-runner to be named as the president's first Supreme Court judicial nominee. Kurt's nomination would not come without controversy. The more conservative members of President Obama's own party have voiced concerns over Kurt's past rulings on right-to-privacy statutes as well as Michael O’Rourke’s influence in the nomination and White House affairs.”_

           “You did a nice job with him,” Sharon nodded to the TV screen from the couch she sat comfortably on. “The president, getting him elected.”

           Tessa chuckled. She walked over to stand behind her desk and get Sharon’s papers organized for Sam Lynch’s inevitable visit. “The American people did that, Sharon.”

           “Oh, honey. I know how this game works.” Sharon waved her hand. “He was a diamond in the rough before you started working for Michael O’Rourke.”

          “Coincidence.”

           “Please, you were the reason O’Rourke set his sights on Obama. He became the financial backing behind closed doors, winning that election.”

           “You can’t buy an election.”

           “Why not? Works everywhere else, doesn’t it?” Sharon sipped her white wine. “All I’m saying is that you steering O’Rourke won that presidency. Good thing too, or else we’d have McCain.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tessa murmured, pretending to be oblivious and holding back a smile.

            “Why did you leave?” Sharon’s toned shifted. She was no longer humorously bantering to satisfy her curiosity, but was genuinely interested. The corner of her crow’s feet eyes squinted slightly.

            Tessa looked up from her paper work. She was slightly taken aback. “Excuse me?” 

            “O’Rourke Enterprises & Holdings Incorporated.” Sharon spoke the words carefully. “No one leaves a job in the Ivory Tower without a good reason.”

            Tessa remained silent, holding Sharon’s eyes, giving nothing away but a blank façade. After the ruined engagement, she never wanted to be near him again. He married his mistress and she gave him children as he built up his business from the ground up. It wasn’t until 2007 that Michael got back in touch with her, offering her a prestigious position at his firm – Public Affair. The Press Secretary of the modern business. Her priest was the one that urged her to take the job, saying that to forgive an enemy is to heal a friend. Michael and Tessa were amicable for a while before slowly slipping into their past friendship. That’s when their lives took a turn. They struck up an affair.

            Swept up in a whirl-wind of forgotten romance and the adrenaline thrill of being caught kept them going for months. Afterward, they began to fall in love all over again under the noses of their friends and family. The cheated became the cheater; the dirty mistress she had hated Catherine for being. It was only after Tessa went through a pregnancy scare that she came to her sense and left. She left Michael, the company, and all her bad choices of the past two years behind her and began to manage crisis other than her own. She hadn’t spoken to him since until last week.

           Tessa’s landline began to ring. She broke eye-contact and hit the ‘line two’ button, then speaker. Sharon got up from the coach and sat back down in an armchair winging the desk. “Gabriel, you in?”

_“We're in.”_

**INTERIOR SHARON MARCELLES’ HOUSE**

            “I am open-minded. I'm an open-minded person. I don't judge.” Lyall spoke into his Bluetooth earpiece to Gabriel as he typed furiously away on Sharon’s home computer, transferring all information onto an encrypted flash-drive before effectively stripping down the system. The latex gloves he was wearing made rubber noises that he found amusing. Donna was in the other room, packing away any and all evidence into a rather large box to take with them. “I just want to say that I think you're being a pig. You're engaged. You have a fiancée!”

           “ _You almost done or not?”_ Gabriel was standing outside, a couple house down from Sharon’s town home. He had both Lyall and Tessa on the line, to relay information and warn if they had any police activity.

           “Donna!” Lyall called out, looking over the computer screen.

           Donna called out, “I'm almost done!”

           “People have standards, Gabe, morals.” Lyall went back to his rant as he finished up with the computer. “I'm disappointed is all I'm saying. You think you know someone.”

_“You and Donna can lecture me later. Now we're working_.” Gabriel sighed. He switched lines to talk to Tessa. “ _They're almost out.”_

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**TESSA REAGAN’S OFFICE**

           “Did they get the photo albums?” Sharon leaned into the speaker to ask.

           “Gabriel, the photo albums.” Tessa spoke louder, so that he could hear.

_“Hang on,”_ Gabriel hit a button to conference in Donna’s Bluetooth. “ _Did you get the photo albums?”_

           “ _No. No, not yet.”_

           “Please get the photo albums.” Sharon stressed. She met Tessa’s questioning gaze and simply replied, “They're important.”

**EXTERIOR SHARON MARCELLES’ HOUSE**

           Gabriel turned and spotted a police patrol car turn the corner and drive slowly down the block, followed closely by an unmarked, dark sedan. “Guys, better hurry it up.”

As the sedan drove past, Gabriel saw through the open passenger window the unhappy face of US Attorney Samuel Lynch.

“Looks like we're not alone.”

**INTERIOR**

           “Got 'em.” Donna announced. There were roughly seven thick albums on the shelf. She wrapped her arms around them and unceremoniously dropped them into the considerably heavy box of evidence Lyall was carrying. He glared at Donna for the added weight.

           _“You'd better use the back door.”_ Gabriel warned. He added to Tessa, “ _Lynch spotted me, which means you've got ten minutes.”_

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**MAIN LOBBY**

            Tessa got on top of the reception desk, leaning back on her hands, lightly swinging her feet. It’s been eleven minutes since Sam spotted Gabriel. Half of her was considering he wasn’t going to show, but the other half knew better. Sam never missed an opportunity to lecture Tessa whenever he ‘suspected’ her of wrong-doing.

            The minute hand on the clock above the door moved and the sound of angry footsteps echoed from the elevator banks. Tessa bit back the smile on her face. Sam threw open the door and stormed inside, not bothering to close it behind him. His carefully tailored suit was slightly wrinkled from his hurried movements to get to Tessa. His normally slick hair had the noticeable signs of finger-raking. Tessa knew she had pushed his buttons this time.

           “You know what I love about my job? I'm the good guy. The law is on my side. I _am_ the law. The law is _me_.” He spoke loudly, walking up to where Tessa sat perched on the desk. At this height, they were at eye-level with each other.

          “I work for justice. I uphold the constitution of these United States. I am a knight for the people. I wear the white hat, and you,” He stepped closer to Tessa, standing to where her legs nearly pressed against him. His voice lowered to normal, yet aggravated tone. “Theresa Edith Reagan, _you_ are a pain in my ass.” He was quiet for a moment. “I had a search warrant for that house, but by the time I got to use it, there was nothing there, because your people took whatever there was to find.”

          “Hello, David. Good to see you.” As she spoke, she reached out her hand and lightly combed his hair with her fingers back into its normal shape. “Did you get a haircut? It's nice.”

          Sam took her hand out of his hair, wrapping his palm around her wrist. “Where is it, Tessa?”

         “Where's what?”

          “The list, Tessa.” He sounded like a tired parent, asking a young child for something they obviously had. “I'm talking about the list and anything else in connection with the illegal business activities of that woman right there.” He raised his voice as he pointed to Sharon, sipping from a coffee cup (that most likely had the wine from her glass in it) through the glass doors.

          Tessa glanced pointedly at her wrist that was still in Sam’s hand. Every time he raised his voice, he unconsciously squeezed her wrist. Sam let go. She wanted to rub her wrist, but refrained, instead placing them both in her lap.

          “I don't have any list. No one in this office does.”

          “That’s because they haven’t come back yet.” Sam looked into Tessa’s gorgeous eyes and lowered his voice. “I can arrest her, you know? I have enough to arrest her right here, right now.”

          “You could,” Tessa said, mirroring his near whisper, “but being an upholder of the constitution, you'd need an arrest warrant, wouldn't you?” She leaned forward, their faces inches apart. Her gaze flickered to his lips for a moment before lazily returning to his eyes. “Do you have one of those?” She bit her lip. She leaned in further as if she were to kiss him, his eyes flickered to her soft lips, but she turned her head at the last moment to whisper in his ear, “My white hat's bigger than your white hat.”

          Sam pulled back to look at her. She could tell he was doing his best not to smile at her rubbing her momentary win in his face. He knew she ruined his case against Sharon, and he would most certainly be furious with her long after he leaves her office, but for right now he was enjoying the flirtatious teasing.

          “Can you at least pretend you aren't enjoying this?” He stepped away before turning his back on Tessa. He was at least curious enough in that moment to close the door behind him.

          Tessa hopped off the desk when she heard the door click. She watched him through the glass get onto the elevator where a uniformed officer and the elevator operator waited. She winked as the elevator descended. The elevator beside it dinged and the bay doors opened, spilling out Gabriel, Donna, and Lyall, along with the box of evidence.

          “You get it all?” Oliva asked, opening the lobby door for them.

          “All of it.” Donna proudly confirmed. She led the way through the French double doors into the conference room where Sharon sat waiting. She stood as they entered.

          “Th-the photo albums?”

          “All of it.” Gabriel nodded. Sharon visibly relaxed when she sighed. He put the box down n the table in front of her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Didn't I tell you we'd take good care of you?”

           Lyall glared none too subtly at Gabriel. He knew the truth about Gabriel’s and Sharon’s connection through retrieving and covering up her files, but he wanted to drive the point home. He wanted Sharon to say it out loud, confirming it. It seemed Gabriel knew what Lyall wanted to do, but was too late to stop him. Lyall walked forward and offered out his hand.

           “I’m Lyall.”

           Sharon skeptically looked him over. His messy chestnut was covered by a knitted Retro Atari beanie that had a black pom-pom on top. His glasses were the same color red. He wore a white Hogwarts Quidditch tank top that showed off his numerous and impressive ink. His grey sweatpants led down to vampire bunny slippers, their exposed fangs ‘dripping’ with blood.

         “Sharon Marcelles. Nice to meet you.”

          “Can I get you anything? More coffee?” Lyall played up the niceness. Tessa, from where she sat at the head of the conference table, looked up suspiciously. She glanced over at Gabriel, who only shook his head.

           “That's very sweet of you.” Sharon looked around Lyall at Gabriel and winked. “Gabe, you didn't tell me you worked with this sweet boy.”

          Lyall feigned confusion. “You know Gabriel?”

          Donna loudly snorted from the kitchen. Gabriel quickly covered. “Uh, we're old friends.”

           “Nice word for it,” Lyall muttered underneath his breath. Gabe ‘accidently’ let his elbow slip into Lyall’s side.

          “I'm sorry. I'm new here,” Lyall blatantly lied, ignoring the pain in his side. “How do you two know each other?”

           “Lyall,” Tessa warned, her eyes fixed on him, pen poised above some documents. Lyall raised an eyebrow in mock innocence.

           Donna sighed, coming back into the room with a tray of fresh coffee for everyone. She’s known since she first started working here about Gabriel and Sharon. She knew nearly everyone’s secrets; or at least as much as Tessa allowed her to know. She put Lyall’s game to an end, announcing, “She provides whores for him.”

           “I'm New York's finest madam, dear.” Sharon smiled politely, taking a cup off the tray.

           Tessa silently put her face in her hand.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**CHRISTOPHER NEILSON’S OFFIC**

            Since the visit with the French president and his own engagement, Chris has been play a small game of catch-up along with his other duties. It’s been a hectic couple of days, so his time to talk was extremely limited and valuable. When Veronica Gadd, head secretary and personal aide to Michael O’Rourke, came in asking for a private word, Chris waved her off.

            “It’s urgent,” she stressed.

            “So are the million other things I am doing.” He stood behind his desk, gold tie loosened, looking for some documents on a Chinese exchange. “Pencil in some time with Bethany and I’ll get to it.”

            Veronica sighed. She had no choice but to tell Chris. She wanted to protect Mr. O’Rourke like everyone else in his company, but she couldn’t just go to _anyone else_ with what she had to say. The only one to be trusted besides herself was Chris. She turned on her heel as if to leave, but instead firmly shut the door. The noise drew Chris’ attention away from his paperwork.

            “You’re going to want to hear what I have to say.” She locked the door and walked over to Chris’ desk. She spoke low so she wouldn’t be over heard by anyone at the door. “The night of the French reception party at the Governor’s mansion, Tessa Reagan came by uninvited. She was upset, something to do with Cynthia. Mr. O’Rourke wanted to speak with her privately in the Governor’s office so I waited outside. Before long I could hear yelling so I went in to quiet them down before the guests heard. That’s when I saw them together.”

            Chris silently waited for her to continue. When she didn’t he sighed, annoyed. “Ms. Gadd-”

            “Embracing. Kissing. That kind of ‘ _together’_.” Registering the shocked look on his face, it put to rest her suspicions about Chris – whether or not he would help Michael cover up an affair. But seeing as this was news to him, it was unlikely. Making the Cynthia Baxter problem unlikely, too.

            Chris slowly sat down, absently looking out the window. It was a while before he spoke. When he did, it was low and soft. “Did anyone else see them?”

            “No, sir.” Veronica resumed her position as the respectable and professional aide. She took a step back and poised herself. “I informed Mr. O’Rourke that he had red lipstick on his face and that he should wash it off. Mrs. O’Rourke was wearing plum lipstick. After he left, I had security discreetly escort Ms. Reagan off the grounds.”

            “Does anyone else know?” He moved his sharp gaze onto her. “Did you tell anyone else?”

            “N-No, sir.” She was unnerved. There was no doubt in her mind the lengths Chris, and Michael for that matter, would go to keep their skeletons in their respectable closets. A breach like this could financially mean millions with Cynthia Baxter out there.

            Chris silently nodded. He shifted his gaze from Veronica back to the window. She closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you for coming to me, Ms. Gadd. You may go back to work now.”

            She nodded and left. She fought to keep her hands from noticeably trembling as she walked back to her station.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**CORRIDOR**

Chris was leaning against a pillar, hands in his pockets, thoughtful starring down at the ground. From what Veronica reported, pieces to his puzzle were beginning to fall into place. Starting with last Sunday’s angry phone call. He had initially thought Tessa took on Cynthia because of some sob story the woman fed to her. But now, it seems as if Cynthia’s initial claim was beginning to make sense, that perhaps there was an affair. First Cynthia, then Tessa….or however order they came in.

            Now there were two angry mistress instead of an angered ex-employee. This is exactly why Chris doesn’t like taking time off. The shit hits the fan in the office and he’s the one left holding the bucket.

            He needed Michael to come clean to him, of all people, so he can figure out the game plan. He needed to know how to win against Tessa Reagan.

           “They ready for me?” Michael asked cheerfully, coming around the corner, redoing his tie. They were about to head out to a press conference on the steps of ‘the Ivory Tower’ to officially show support for President Obama’s nomination for Justice Ronald Kurt.

            “In a minute. Michael-”

            “Big day, Chris. A great day for the American people.”

            “We need to talk about this-” Chris said, but again Michael spoke over him.

             “I am endorsing a man for the Supreme Court today. One of the finest constitutional scholars in the country. He's gonna change the face of American law.” Michael stopped walking when he got to the lobby so he could finish with his tie. Chris motioned for Michael to move his hands so that he could do the rest. As Michael spoke enthusiastically about Justice Kurt, Chris fixed the details of Michael’s suit. “Did you know Kurt also has a PhD? He wrote his dissertation on the nature of revolutions? Revolutions, Chris!”

             They began walking again. Chris added sarcastically, “And he likes sunsets and long walks on the beach. He's perfect, sir.” Chris stopped them just short of the lobby doors, holding out his arm. He turned to Michael and stepped in close, turning his back away from the doors. “It is a great day, but we need to talk about Tessa.” Michael gave him a confused look. “Veronica rightly informed me on what happened the night I got engaged. One of the happiest nights of my life. Now, that memory is being overshadowed by you sticking your _tongue_ down your ex-fiancé’s throat; my best friend and the woman you cheated on for you now _wife_.”

             “We can do this another time.” Chris could see the strain behind Michael’s careful composure. His voice was low, warning.

             “We're doing this now.”

              “Look,” He slowly turned his back to the doors, standing shoulder to shoulder with Chris. “Veronica misunderstood what she saw.”

               “She did not misunderstand. It may be a long while since I had an angry lover on my hands, but I do remember what it looks like. What it _sounds_ like.” Before Michael could say anything, Chris added, “You're having an affair with Tessa Reagan.”

                “I am not having-”

                 Chris shook his head, exasperated, “Having, had; don't Clinton me with words. Something happened between you and Tessa, and something happened between you and Cynthia Baxter.” Chris turned to face Michael, starring his straight in the eyes. “I need to know how much trouble we're in, Michael.”

                Michael put his hands on Chris’ shoulders; a friendly gesture to anyone looking in. “This is not a discussion we are going to have.”

               He took his hands off and began walking to the lobby doors. As he drew closer, flashing camera lights increased their pace. “Tessa is representing her.” Those four words stopped him with his hand on the door handle. “Cynthia Baxter.” Chris slowly walked up to Michael, placing his hand on the door as well. “She's now Tessa Reagan's client.” He leaned in closer as this new information sank in with Michael. “I'm on your side. Do you understand? I'm on your side.”

               “Chris,” Michael spoke slowly, collecting his thoughts. He pulled open the lobby doors amide flashing brilliant lights. He plastered a smile on his face for the viewers at him watching. “This is a great day for the American people. Don't ruin it.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

                “Sharon Marcelles,” Lyall began the meeting, taping information to the skyline window. “New York's one-stop shop for high-priced hookers.” He pointedly looked at Gabriel. “Yesterday, one of Sharon's newest working girls, Ginger Bell….” Lyall stopped. He looked down at his notes to make sure he got that right. “Seriously, her real name is Ginger Bell, like her parents didn't want her to go to college, like they planned for their kid to be a hooker.”

                 “Lyall,” Tessa said, looking over her case file.

                 “Right. Ginger Bell got herself arrested in the lobby of the Hay-Adams.” He taped up a photo. It was of a petite woman in a purple leopard print dress; she had worried hazel eyes and smeared mascara. She looked more like a doe know it’s about to be shot. “This is her booking photo. Pretty girl.” He turned to Gabriel. “You ever sleep with Ginger Bell, Gabe?”

                 “Don’t do women, Ly,” Gabriel nonchalantly defended himself, winking.

                 “Lyall,” Tessa warned again

                 “Moving on. Ginger Bell sang like a little bird who has sex for money the second they locked her in a cell.”

                 “Role the tape, please,” Tessa asked. Donna had wheeled in a TV and stand while they were setting up for the meeting. Lyall picked up the remote and hit play on Sharon’s initial interview. Tessa like to (unknowingly) tape her clients telling her their needs and wants so that she can review it later. All tapes are destroyed after completion of the case, of course.

_"I don't blame Ginger. Really, I don't.”_ She sipped her tea from the couch. This had been shot earlier today, so the sun was still out. _“It was her first night. The first night's always the hardest for a girl, you know? It's the night she learns whether or not she has what it takes. She has to put on her face and go out into the world, sit in the bar or the lobby or wherever it is they've decided to meet, and then she has to look him in the eye and know that they're both in agreement that her_ body _is worth a certain amount of money.”_ Lyall glanced over at Gabe who was slightly nodding. “ _Of course, it's a lot of money, but it's still a transaction, and then she has to come back and show me what she made, so I know she can go out again the next night and the night after that.”_

               Lyall paused the tape. “I wiped her home computer, and I just searched the copy I made, and there's nothing there. No names, no dates, no tax returns.”

               “Sam thinks there is a client list, and if there is one, we need it. We may need not to use it, but we need to know who's on it. We can't do anything for Sharon until we know the landscape, and the landscape starts with _that_ list.”

           “Well, there were no records I could see. There was nothing encrypted.”

            “Believe me, she has records.” Gabriel said, flipping through his copy of the file. Lyall snorted and rolled his eyes.

             “And I do,” Sharon said. They turned to see her standing in the doorway of Tessa’s office, holding a photo album. Lyall pulled out a chair for her, and she thanked him with a smile. She flipped to the very back, passing over the pictures of her two grandsons. She had brought Tessa’s letter opened with her so that she could slice the backing of the album. When she did, she lifted the fabric to reveal several flat, yellowing pieces of paper with black ink coloring them. “I have them going all the way back to 1986.”

              Sharon handed them to Tessa. She examined the neatly organized list. “A girl's first name, a date, an amount, and a number.”

              “No Johns?” Gabe asked when Tessa handed him the list. “Ten digits.”

              “Telephone numbers?” Lyall asked. Sharon winked. “You're good.”

               “I try.” She sipped a cup of coffee that was on the table. She scrunched her nose. “Peppermint.”  

**LYALL’S OFFICE**

            Lyall sat at his desk and typed the numbers into his computer. He saw surrounded by sci-fi and nerdy artifacts that he’s collected over the years. Donna was in the back corner, making up his messy futon bed. She was only allowed inside his office/room whenever he was in there. She took the time to tidy up.

            “Phone numbers are perfect. Put 'em in a public records database, and it's as good as a name, maybe better. Type in a number and…” He clicked a button and his screen became littered with driver’s license photos of every John since 1986. “I get every man who purchased one of Sharon's girls.” One license photo enlarged itself. Lyall printed it out and handed the copy over his shoulder to Donna. It was Sharon’s most recent client – Ginger’s John. “His name, his photo, his address, how much he weighs, and if he's an organ donor.”

            She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back for the rest.”

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

            Donna plastered the skyline window with driver’s license photos and information of all Sharon’s ‘clients’ since 1986. She was beginning to run out of room when she slapped up Gabriel’s photo with the rest.

            “Really?” Gabriel asked. “You too?”

            Donna shrugged. “I'm being thorough.”

            By the time they were done, there were over fifty single- and repeat-clients on the window. Donna was double-checking everything while Gabriel talked with Lyall when Tessa walked in, shutting the double French doors.

            “What’s up?”

             “Cynthia Baxter,” Tessa said quietly, stepping in close to Donna. “I want you to go check on her in the hospital.”

            “I know you’re concerned about her over-all wellbeing because you’re a decently moral person, but you said yourself, she's just a girl telling lies about O’Rourke and she's not going to anymore.” She could tell there was something else going on, so she pushed a little further. “She's not going to talk to anybody. You put a stop to that, so why is she so important?”

             “Donna-”

             “Going.” Donna handed her papers to Tessa and walked away. Lyall and Gabe were walking in as she did do.

              “This is why I don't trust politicians.” Gabriel said. “It's a ‘who's who’ of New York, with some Washington overlay.”

               “No wonder the U.S. attorney wants to get his hands on this list.” Tessa walked the length of the wall, looking over the photos. She stopped when she spotted one she recognized. Someone soon the whole country will recognize. “Damn it.”

               She turned on her heel and quickly walked away, ripping her coat off the back of her chair as she went.

               “Tess?” Gabriel asked.

                “I gotta go!” Tessa yelled, the lobby doors loudly closing behind her.

                Lyall walked up the picture she had been starring at. “Who's Ronald Kurt?”

               “Well, right now he's no one,” he looked down at his watch, “but in about ten minutes, he's gonna be the President's first Supreme Court nominee. And Michael O’Rourke is publically endorsing him.”

                He took out his cell and hit 'one' on his speed-dial. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again and the same thing happened. Chris needed to break the habit of turning off his cell phone when prepping for conferences. Gabriel shook his head. If Tessa didn't there in time, there would be one hell of a shit-storm.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**ENTERENCE**

It hadn’t taken long for Tessa to break multiple traffic laws to get to the tower. The headquarters of Michael O’Rourke global enterprise, commonly referred to as ‘The Ivory Tower’. It was a twenty story office building, all curved glass, steel, and stone easily mistaken for ivory. _O’Rourke_ was stenciled prominently in black in stone above the glass doors, the only marker for this building.

           “No, listen, it it's gonna take at least a couple of hours for Sam to get that arrest warrant,” Tessa was telling Gabriel over the phone as she got out of her car and headed up to the building.

            Men in tailored business suits, do doubt carrying concealed weapons underneath their jackets, flanked the glass double doors. When she approached, the doorman on the left opened the door for her. On the other side, two more men, mirroring the ones outside, stood flanking the inner doors.

“Don't give up that list for any reason.”

            The enormously intimidating lobby was like the outside, glass, steel, and ivory. In the forward center was the ivory-detailed front desk. On either side of the desk were two security check lines. Like in court houses or important federal buildings, there were uniformed security guards operating the lines. The left of the front desk was for employees – merely present you pass and you can head back to the elevator banks. The same for guests and visitors on the right, but they had to walk through a metal detector. Security seemed to have increased since last Tessa was here.

            Tessa went to the employee line. Behind the front desk was Olivia, the receptionist. She was a very attractive, well groomed, blonde woman who smiled pleasantly at Tessa as she approached. Tessa often had lunch with her and the other secretaries when she worked here. It was always a nice thing to have, the trust and respect of those who are invisible in a business.

            “Okay. I'll be back as soon as I can.” She hung up with Gabriel and smiled at Olivia, flashing her pass. “Morning, Olivia.”

            She was about to step around the front desk and head to the elevator bank, but Olivia reached out a hand to stop her. “Sorry, Ms. Reagan, but you aren't cleared.”        

            The security officer ushered her away from the entrance. “Wh-when have I ever not been cleared?”

            “Never…till today.” Olivia said hesitantly. She knew she was in an awkward spot, biting the inside of her cheek was her tell. “Let me see what I can do, okay?” She turned to her computer and typed for a moment. She slowly turned to Tessa “I'm supposed to take your hard pass…”

             “I'm denied?” Tessa said, stunned. She would have thought this a joke if it had happened a week ago. “Olivia, you know me. Me?”

              “Look, I'm sorry.” Olivia gently took Tessa’s pass out of her hand. “You could still come in if you had an appointment.” Olivia was trying to find a way around this that wouldn’t get her in trouble. “Do you-”

             “Is there a problem?” Someone behind Tessa asked. She turned and say that it was David Howser, O’Rourke E&H vice president Charlotte Davis’ second. Technically, in the line of the company’s secession, the fifth most powerful person running the company. He was in his mid- to late-thirties, controlled black curly hair, and friendly chocolate eyes. Tessa counted him among her friends when she worked her. He smiled dazzlingly at Olivia and Tessa. “Because she makes 'em go away for a living, and she's very good.”

             “M-Ms. Reagan isn't on the list, sir.” Olivia explained the situation.

             Startled, David looked down at Tessa. “What’d you do now?”

             Tessa sighed. “Don't ask. Can you get me in? I need to talk to Christopher.”

             "Tried his cell?"

              "Hasn't turned it back on since the endorsement conference."

              David nodded, placing his hands on his hips. “She can come in with me. I'll vouch for her.”

              “I'm sorry, but she needs an appointment, or else I can't let her in.” Olivia stood her ground as politely as she could.

               “What's your extension, Olivia?” David asked as he pulled out his cell from his jacket pocket.  

               “3838.” Confused, she looked from Tessa to David. “Why?”

               “Hang on.” David punched in numbers to his phone. He held it up to his ear, waiting. Moments later, Olivia phone began to ring. “Okay. Answer it.”

              “Hello.” Olivia said flatly into the phone.

               “Hi. This is David Howser, the Vice President's Chief of Staff. I need a walk-on pass for Tessa Reagan.” As David was talking, Olivia wordlessly handed a walk-on pass to Tessa. “Thank you, Olivia.”

                 “Thank you.” Tessa siled at Olivia. She held up the pass for the security guard as she walked past him. She walked with David to the elevators. “Thank you.”

                “So what's up?” David hit the elevator’s call button.

                 “You're gonna want to hear this.”

**MNT. SINAI HOSPITAL**

**CYNTHIA BAXTER’S ROOM**

                  Donna stood outside the hospital room, watching the tormented girl through the window sleep quietly.

**“** Don't you hate hospitals?” A man leaning against the nurse’s station asked. In the reflection on the window, Donna could see that he was good looking. Tousled brown hair, stubble that’s not yet a beard, and a green and tan flannel that gave him an outdoorsmen look.

                  “Yeah, a little.” Donna replied.

                   “Is that your sister?” The man asked.

                   Donna turned around. He had a notebook in his hands. He could be a reporter trying to get the early scoop…..or he could be a concerned family member of another patient, taking noted of what the doctor says. Donna’s mom was like that. Not quite sure what to make of the man, she answered carefully.

                   “She's a friend.”

                   Sensing the hesitation, the man stuck out his hand. “Gregory Williams.”

                  “Donna Martin.”

                  Gregory pushed himself off the nurse’s station and came to stand beside Donna at the window. He nodded to Cynthia. “Is she gonna be okay, your friend?”

                   “Yeah, I think so.” She nodded, smiling.

                   “That's good, really good.” Gregory smiled. After a moment, he asked about her injuries. “She tried to kill herself? I was walking by here earlier. I saw the bandages on her wrists.” When Donna didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Her name's Cynthia, right? She ever try anything like this before?”

                  Donna smiled as politely as she could. “Gregory?”

                  He smiled back. “Yeah?”

                 “Which news outlet do you work for?”

                  His smile dropped. “The "New York Sun".” He looked her over more carefully. “And who do you work for?”

                 “I don't work for anyone, and I'm not going to talk to you, and Cynthia can't talk to you,” She jerked her head to the side, motioning Cynthia’s motionless body, “because she's been knocked out on sedatives for the past day and a half. She can't really talk to anyone, especially a reporter.” Her face, as well as tone, became hard. “So you should probably go.”

                 Donna hated reporters; especially reporters that couldn’t be bribed or reporters that crept into hospital rooms while the victim was asleep or knocked out to take ‘exclusive’ photos of whatever crime took place. She didn’t like reporters out of personal experience.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**OFFICE OF CHRISTOPHER NEILSON**

Chris’ warm personality did not fit the cool décor of his office. In front of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, there was a dark wooden desk that multiple people could comfortable sit around. Everything was ivory or cream colored – the walls, the floor, the ceiling. All walls except one; it was ocean blue. It was personalized with various photographs of Chris with important people, friends and family, spliced with shelves lined with several awards and thick, expensive books.

            Apart from the personalized wall, his office was the exact opposite of Chris – cold, clean, impersonal. It was more of Michael’s style.

            Normally, Chris would be sitting in the dark leather chair behind his desk, carefully watching who ever sat in the white chairs opposite the desk. Yet now, after Tessa shared the news about Justice Ronald Kurt, he was pacing in front of the windows, gold tie loosened around his neck, hands on hips. David and Tessa both stood in front of his desk like two school children called before the principal.

            “This was our guy. _You_ chose this guy. He was _your_ pick. _You_ loved this guy.” He was waving his finger angrily towards Tessa and David. They were, in fact, the two who spear-headed the endorsement search. “Michael loves this guy! He recommended his to the President of the United States over dinner at the White House!” He shook his head. “Kurt is the Clarence Darrow for the 21st century. When he's not writing opinions for the tenth circuit, he herds cattle on his ranch in Wyoming. He's _flawless_. You know how I know?” He turned to Tessa and David. He didn’t wait for their reply. “We vetted him; this mulit-billion dollar company vetted him. As well as the White House. Do you know what we found? Nothing. The man is a saint.” He walked back to his desk, pointing behind him at the cityscape through the window. “Which is why Michael O’Rourke stood in front of the press and endorsed the President’s nomination of him to the highest court in the land.”

            “Which I could have stopped, if you hadn't cut off my access.” Tessa mockingly told him.

            “You know why I cut off your access.” Chris growled. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop – Chris’ barely controlled anger, David’ confusion in the turn of their blame-game, and Tessa’s hurt curiosity in how he found out. But who was she kidding, it was Christopher Neilson, he was just as good as Tessa.

            “He's on the list, Christopher,” She said calmly after a moment, absorbing his anger. They’ll deal with the other ‘situation’ later.

            “And my goddamn fiancé works in your office! Why the hell could both one of you not pick up the phone and give me a heads up?!” His anger was deflecting. He was at least calming down….fractionally. He turned to David. “How did you miss this?”

             “I didn't. She's wrong.” Tessa scoffed, rolling her eyes. David shrugged. “Sorry, Tess, but Kurt's a boy scout.”

             “Oh, come on, David. You and Charlotte should be thrilled. Kurt's always been too far left for the Republican base.”

              “Personally, yeah, he wouldn't be my choice,” David nodded. Tessa looked at Chris and waved her arm accusatorily at David. David spoke louder. “But I'm a team player, Tess, and so is the V.P. Want a cliché sports metaphor? Here you go – when the manager asks you to put a guy in, you put him in.”

               Tessa placed her hands on Chris’ desk and leaned forward, engulfing his attention. “You can't endorse Kurt. You have to retract. 23 years ago Ronald Kurt slept with a high-end hooker. More than once!”

              “Maybe we'll be fine.” David said optimistically. “Confirmation hearings are in two weeks, four tops. Maybe this won't come out.”

              Tessa held her ground, starring Chris down. She spoke low and even, making sure the severity of what she was saying was understood. “It's a dirty little secret, and dirty little secrets always come out, don't they, Chris?”

             Chris didn’t look away as he said, “David, give us a minute.”

             “No.” Tessa pushed herself off the desk, stepping back. “No, no. No need. I'm going,” She picked her purse off the armchair.

             “Tessa-” Chris said, warningly as she opened the door.

             “No.” Tessa turned around, fire in her eyes. “I could have had stood back and watched you all burn, but I didn’t.”

             “Your Catholic morals finally kicking in?” He scoffed. “Daddy would be so proud.”

             She ignored his comment and pointed to them both, “Get yourself a backup nominee.”

             She let the door slam on her way out, the heavy wood vibrating on its hinges. Ms. (Margot) Creech, Chris’ aide and receptionist jumped in her seat. Tessa could tell she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying whatever rude thing she was thinking.

            Tessa was so lost in her head, she hadn’t noticed she made a wrong turn on her way to the elevator bank until her attention was captured by flashing lights from cameras. She focused and found herself outside the large conference room. Michael was inside with Justice Ronald Kurt, posing for pictures and making small talk with him and the press. Tessa hadn’t meant to stand there, but it was too late. Michael spotted her. His camera smile faltered as he stood there, struck. She turned around, but not in time to see Michael turn to a staffer standing beside him and whisper in her ear.

            She was nearly to the elevators when the staffer caught up to her, slightly out of breath. “Ms. Reagan!” She called out, but Tessa ignored her. “Ms. Reagan, Mr. O’Rourke would like a moment with you.”

           Ahead, the doors of an elevator were beginning to close. Tessa rushed faster to catch them. She had made it in time to slither in before the doors closed.

           “Please tell him I'm busy.” Tessa had enough time to say before the steel doors closed in the frightened staffers face. She could tell the young woman did not want to go back to Michael empty-handed, but Tessa could honestly care less.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

           While Tessa changed in her office, Gabriel and Lyall were sitting around the conference table, deciphering Sharon’s list. There were take-out boxes, empty Starbucks cups, and various papers strewn around the table.

          “Hey, I don't understand half of this. Is this some kind of code?” Lyall turned is computer around and pointed to his screen. “What does ‘hardwood floors’ mean? Gabriel?”

           “Why would you think that I would know?” Gabriel muttered, making marks on his copy of the list.  

           “Because you frequent whores.”

           “I do not frequent-” He shot back defensively, but stopped when Lyall raised his eyebrow. “I used to. Before Christopher. Are you happy?”

            “Happy that you exploited young men for sex? Not really.” He tapped his screen again. “Hardwood floors?”

             “It means there's no carpeting.” Lyall looked slightly taken aback, so he added, “To match the drapes.”

             “And, uh,” he coughed, uncomfortably, clearing his throat, “what about, uh, ‘sunny day’?”

             “On a sunny day, you don't have to wear a raincoat.”

            “And all of the languages these people speak, those are all _things_?”

            “Yes, Lyall, those are all _things_.” Tessa smiled as she walked out of her office. She had changed out of her cocktail dress from last night and into something more comfortable - fine a pale rose wool knit, V-neck, pull-over sweater paired with dark denim jeans. She was currently barefoot. As she walked over to the table, she French braided her hair. “Where are we?”

           “Almost done with the list of names.” Lyall gestured to his second computer. He put the names through a program and every time a name was decoded, it would be added to their list.

             “Any word from the U.S. attorney?”

            “Nothing. Maybe he couldn't get a warrant.” Gabriel said hopefully, leaning back in his chair. Yet not a second later, there was loud knocking at their door.

            “Police! Open up!”

            Tessa raised her eyebrow and Gabriel shrugged. “He got a warrant.”

             Lyall and Gabriel got out of their chairs and followed Tessa to the lobby. She unlocked the doors, opening them a crack, just enough for Sam to hand her the warrant. When it was in her hands, she opened them the rest of the way. What she was surprised to see was her older sister, Erin Reagan-Boyle, walking in behind Sam.

              “Oh come on,” Tessa sighed. She handed the warrant to Gabriel to look over carefully.

              “Oh, yeah,” Sam smiled, as if remembering Erin was with him, “I thought I’d bring along your sister, the Assistant District Attorney of New York, to make sure you didn’t pull anymore stunts like last night.”

               Tessa stepped in close to Sam like she had done last night. “Which one,” she said breathlessly, “The one with me on the desk or the one you got your ass kick? Because both were equally pleasurable.”

               She didn't care if her prudish sister say her shamelessly flirting with her 'enemy'. She needed to distract Sam to get her team time. Sam didn't take the bait. He leaned down, bring their faces closer, whispering back, “Where's my madam?”

             Tessa stepped back, crossing her arms. “You're after Sharon Marcelles for the publicity and for getting your name in the paper and for upping your shot at Attorney General the next time there's a democrat in office.”

             “I'm after Sharon Marcelles because she's a criminal. Are you seriously the patron Saint of streetwalkers now? Is this a catholic thing?” Tessa rolled her eyes. Sam took a step closer, his finger lightly jabbing her in the chest. “Bring her out, or I'll go in to get her.”

              “Do not touch her.” Erin interjected, stepping up. She looked stunned that a man in Sam’s position would be acting like this, and not more professional. She knew her sister had a way of getting under people's skin, but this is a little bit more than that. Were they sleeping together?

              “Lyall,” Tessa called over her shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Sam. “Go downstairs and make sure we don't have any press waiting to give Samuel a photo op.”

               “On it.” Lyall looked Sam up and down before walking through the officers at the door.

               “The madam, Tessa. Now.” Tessa could tell she was wearing down Sam’s saintly patience towards her.

               “Gabe, get Sharon.” Tessa’s cell began to ring. It was Donna. Sam was about to open his mouth, but she held up her finger to silence him. “What? Did you get a name?”

_“Gregory. His name was Gregory Williams, and he writes for the "Sun".”_

                “Hold on.” She turned around when she heard Sharon’s heels clicking on the hardwood. “Don't say anything to anyone.” She turned back to Sam when the police officers came back for Sharon. “I want a private holding cell, no gen pop, and recently cleaned.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flash of metal. “Handcuffs? Because the nice grandma is so dangerous.”

                 “We’ll get you out in no time,” Gabriel told Sharon, comforting her with a gently squeeze.

                “Thank you, dear,” she winked at him.

                Sam motioned with two fingers for the officers and Sharon to proceed downstairs. He tilted his head. “Dinner?”

                “When I get your case dismissed, sure.” She smiled politely and Sam chuckled. He turned and left. Erin raised her eyebrow.

                 “Seriously?”

                 Tessa shrugged. “He knows the best take out.”

                 Erin kissed Tessa’s cheek. “You’re playing with fire. Try not to get burned?”

                 “If I do, you can say I told you so at Sunday dinner.”

                 “Counting on it,” Erin called back as she walked out the door.

                 Tessa’s smile dropped as she brought her phone back up to her ear. “Donna, you do not leave her side. You do not eat. You do not sleep. She doesn't leave your sight. Do you understand?”

                 _“Yes. Yes, I understand.”_

                Tessa hung up as Lyall jogged through the doors. “No press, but Ronald Kurt and his wife are in the lobby with David Howser. They're on their way up.”

                Tessa stood in the middle of her lobby. Too much was happening too fast. She shut tight her eyes and let her mind work though it all.

                “Tessa?” Lyall asked.  

                 “She’s thinking,” Gabriel said, soon followed by Tessa barking her orders,

                 “Lyall, put Ronald Kurt in an office far away from the board and then find out who the hell Gregory Williams is. Gabe, get Sharon out of jail. And don’t talk to my sister; bad enough she saw me flirting with Lynch.” When no one was moving, she clapped her hands together and yelled, “All cylinders, people! Let's go!”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Author’s Note: I re-uploaded the previous chapter (ch.3) due to an error on my part. Same content, just fixed a couple of mistakes.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**KITCHEN**

Tessa Reagan was quietly arguing with David Howser in the kitchen while Lyall babysat Justice Ronald Kurt and his wife in Tessa’s office.

           “No. No. Absolutely no.” Tessa was vehemently whispering to David. “I gave Chris the heads-up because I was doing you a favor, but I don't work at the Tower anymore, and Kurt is not my client. You have a problem, you fix it yourself.”

“Tess, it's me!” David smiled, confused by Tessa’s sudden animosity towards anything Ivory Tower. “Help me out here. This is an F.O.E. favor, by the way.”

“Don't you Friend-of-Erin favor me,” Tessa held up her hands, shaking her head. “You guys dated for less than a month.”

           “I am telling you, Kurt is the real deal, and you're just gonna let him go down?” _This,_ Tessa found funny. She titled her head back to chuckle. “Come on. You're the big guns! Fix it.” When she didn’t answer, he put on his catch-all charming smile. “How about a Friend-of-David favor?”

**TESSA’S OFFICE**   

           David led Tessa into her office. The Kurts stood anxiously in front of Tessa’s desk, waiting to assault her with questions. Lyall, too, stood up; his laptop tucked under his arm.

            “Justice Kurt, Mrs. Kurt, I’m Tessa Reagan.” Tessa held out her hand as she introduced herself.

“Yes, I’m quite aware. I’m an admirer of your father’s.” Kurt said as they shook. When he took back his hand, he placed it on his hip, his suit jacket opening. “Uh, David here tells me, uh, there's some problem with my nomination and you're the only one who's qualified to tell me about it.”

           “Mrs. Kurt,” Lyall said, drawing their attention to the back of the office. “Perhaps you'd like to come with me and get a cup of coffee?”

            “She's my wife. Anything you have to say to me, you can say to her.” Kurt quickly put to rest that idea. “I don't have secrets.”

Tessa nodded to Lyall, dismissing him to work on Gregory Williams. She held out her hand, indicating Justice and Mrs. Kurt to have a seat. David remained standing behind them. Tessa took her seat behind the desk, collecting herself.

“Your honor, your name was discovered on a list of our client's customers, dating back to the early 1990s. According to her records, you visited a prostitute named Stacey a number of times in late 1991 and early 1992.”

           Kurt turned around in his seat to face David, accosting him. “Is this because I'm not one of your hyper-religious whack jobs who want to overlook the constitution in favor of whatever version of the Bible is selling the most brimstone this week?”

           “Ronald, don't get worked up.” Mrs. Kurt said quietly, placing her hand on his arm.

“Sir, I know this is a stressful process, but we are all _united_ in trying to get you confirmed.” David flicked a glance to Tessa. “The _entire_ administration at the Ivory Tower. You have my word on that.”

           Kurt turned back to Tessa. “If my name's on a list somewhere, I want to see it.”

           “My client's privacy is nonnegotiable.” She shook her head once. “I assure you, the list is real, judge, and your name is on it.”

“Well, this is just this is a bold-faced lie.” Kurt was raising his voice, glancing from his wife to Tessa. “That's what it is. Do you know what I've done to get here, what I've had to give up? My entire career, my entire life, has been about sitting on that bench! About the law, about _following_ the law. I would never in-”

“Judge, that may be true, but we need to go into crisis mode now.” Tessa cut through, laying down the law with her own voice. “My advice to you is that you pull your name from consideration, blame it on a medical ailment or a personal family matter, state how grateful you are to have been chosen but that you _have_ to withdraw. This is what I am recommending to Ivory Tower; this is wat I’m recommending to the White House.” Mrs. Kurt reached out her hand to place on her husband’s arm in consolment. David himself looked utter taken aback. Tessa offered up a sliver of hope. “Perhaps we could sit you down with Diane Sawyer-”

“No, I did not do this, and I will not lie,” Kurt held up his finger to silence her. He leaned forward in his chair. “And I will not withdraw my name. President Obama has called me to serve, and I will not turn my back on my duty to my country.”

           Disgusted, Kurt stood up and walked out the doors. David starred, flabbergasted, at Tessa before following. Mrs. Kurt remained behind a moment longer to assure Tessa of her husband’s innocence.

“He didn't do this. I _know_ he didn't. Losing the nomination it'll kill him. Please,” She reached across the desk and gently touched Tessa’s arm, her voice pleading. “ _Please_ don't let that happen.”

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Lyall was working on Gregory Williams at the table, a cup of coffee steaming out of his Hello Kitty mug not far from him. Tessa stood in front of Justice Kurt’s photo on the window. The situation bewitching her.

“What does your gut say?” Lyall asked, tossing a crumbled up sticky note at her so that she would actually hear him. Tessa has a habit of tuning out anything but her own voice when she gets lost in her mind.

“That he's not a hooker guy or a liar.” She sighed, not believing she was doubting the evidence. “If he says he's never heard of Stacey, I believe him. That calls the _whole_ list into question.”

           “It makes sense.” Lyall said, getting up to stand next to Tessa.

“How so?”

“Sharon's a smart lady. She's been doing this a long time. At the end of the day, that list is all she's got.”

“Do you think she would get a little creative with the data entry?”

Lyall raised his eyebrow, cup poised at his lips. “Would you blame her?”

“No, I wouldn't,” She answered honestly. She tapped Kurt’s picture. “But I'm not willing to throw away a man's entire career over a little embellishment. Track down Stacey. Find out if Kurt was really one of the Johns.”

**12 TH POLICE PRECEINT **

Gabriel was escorted back to the interrogation room by a uniformed police officer. He opened the door and let Gabriel in. Gabriel smiled reassuringly at Sharon who was handcuffed behind the cold steel of the table. Gabriel laid his briefcase on the table and took a seat opposite her.

“Well, it's not the nicest place I've ever spent the afternoon, but it's an occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Well, I _can_ get you out of here, and I _can_ make sure you never have to come back here again,” Gabriel peaked Sharon’s interest before dealing the blow, “but you need to let me give them your client list.”

“No.” She said simply.

“The U.S. attorney is gonna get his hands on it eventually, and it is the only leverage you have.”

“Well, maybe,” Sharon chuckled, “but I didn't stay out of trouble for 30 years by kissing and telling, Gabe.” She raised an eyebrow. “Nobody knows _that_ better than you.”

“Your clients are all grown men. _I'm_ a grown man. _I_ made a choice to do something illegal, and sometimes we have to live with the choices we make.”

Sharon was silent for a moment, conserving what to say next. She leaned forward on the table as much as the handcuffs would allow. “I was the only single mother in my daughter's preschool class; and when she was 17 and found out what I did, what I really did for a living, she didn't talk to me for ten years.” She leaned back in her seat. “Six months ago, she calls me up and tells me I can _finally_ meet my grandchildren. So I know a lot about living with my choices, Gabriel. Believe me.”

“Do you want your grandchildren to meet you in jail?” Gabriel countered, mimicking the hostile calm of her voice.

“No, but the thing is, most of the men on that list,” she sighed, looking away, “they have grandchildren, too.”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**“THE IVORY TOWER”**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

Michael’s office, like nearly all other offices in the Ivory Tower, were like that of Chris’ – modern and minimalistic.

He sat in his white leather chair behind his spacious, dark mahogany desk. Matching white leather chairs flank opposite of his desk. Behind him was a floor-to-ceiling view of the New York skyline. Since he had the largest corner office, to the east was Fifth Avenue, and to the north a couple blocks was Central Park. It was a stunning vista that he often lost himself in thought to. His security team, as cautiously paranoid as they come, insisted on the highest quality of bullet-resistant glass on the market for his and the other top executive’s office, as well as all conference rooms.

Away from his desk, yet still near the center of the room, was an L-shaped, white leather couch, beautifully accented by a dark wooden coffee table. The two remaining walls not made into windows were lined with rich, hard wood flooring panels. Almost as bookends, two floor-to-ceiling length bookcases were at the ends of each wall. All overflowing with various books, contrasting in length and substance. In the middle of the wall, between the bookcases, was a rich wooden Torrens bar cabinet. On top of the table top, mixed in with the various bottle of liquor, was his father’s vinyl record player.

As he read over his speech for the Chancellor, the soothing tones of Sinatra floated through the air. The surface of his desk was equally as minimal as the room - a computer, a leather notebook, a couple neatly stacked piles of paperwork, and two framed photo – the first of Catherine and the children and the second of Michael and his mother.

The doors to this office opened. Veronica stepped inside to let Chris in.

“You’re meeting with the chancellor is in a couple of minutes, sir,” Veronica reminded him on her way out.

“Thank you,” He said without looking up. It wasn’t until the door was shut firmly behind her that he acknowledged Chris. “You blocked Tess from the Tower.”

“I did,” Chris nodded, accepting the accusation. “For your protection _and_ hers.”

Michael swiveled his chair to place his remarks on his desk with the other drafts. “I have my own private military and a pair of very scary marine personal guards to protect me. Tessa has New York’s finest and your capable husband. I think she can walk through the Tower without posing a danger.”

“I don't think Tessa is the danger. I think the person you both need protection from is _you_.” Chris unfolded a piece of paper taken out of his suit jacket and forcefully placed it on Michael’s desk. “This went up on the "New York Sun's" blog today.”

Michael picked up the printed screen page of the website’s blog. The article headline read – ‘Ivory Tower aide resigns, attempts suicide’.

“I need to know what's going on here - the details. All the details. This company is not going down because you failed to keep your fly zipped.”

Michael looked up from the article. In a low and steady voice, he warned, “You work for me, not the other way around.”

“This company caters to the people, Michael. I am the people. You work for me.”

Michael handed the paper back to Chris, dismissing it. “It's two sentences about a disturbed girl.”

Chris placed his closed fists on the desk and leaned over. “Watergate was two sentences about a _burglary_. Look where that got Nixon.”

Before Michael could retort about how vastly different his situation and Nixon’s was – namely being the Presidency – Catherine boldly walked through the office doors. Veronica was behind her. She stood by the open door like a sentry.

“Hi, Chris.” Catherine smiled cheerfully. She wore an ivory cream color dress that hugged her modestly down to mid-calf, and she paired it with a lavender light blazer and heels. Her dark hair curled elegantly down her back and was pinned away from her face.

“Cathy.” Chris smiled back warmly. In no rush to alert her, he folded the article and placed it back in his jacket.

“Honey, are you ready for the chancellor and his wife?” Catherine asked as she made her way around his desk, picking up his navy suit jacket from one of the wing chairs. “Because I think they are ready for us.”

“Can't keep the chancellor waiting.” Michael smiled. He stood and allowed Catherine to help him into his jacket.

“No you can't.” Chris agreed.

“You look fantastic.” Michael complemented her when he turned around.

“Oh, well, thank you, kind sir.” She blushed. She curled her fingers around the jackets lapels and pulled him down to kiss her.

He winked down at her when he pulled away. “Ms. Gadd, my remarks?” Veronica held out papers to him as he approached the door. “I'm supposed to say something in German.”

Chris and Catherine were supposed to follow, but Catherine held him up a moment. She lowered her voice as to not be over heard. “David Howser told me we've hit a snag in the Kurt nomination. Is it serious?”

“We don't know yet.” Chris shook his head, playing ignorant. “Could be.”

“Well, you know what I will be saying from now on?” Catherine smiled warmly, “If it's serious get, Theresa Reagan on it.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

“You're sure we're looking for a Stacey? 'Cause I don't think my favorite girl down at Camelot's given name is Sinnamon, if you get my drift.” Lyall was saying into the phone. He was sitting behind his desk, talking to Gabriel over the phone. He’d hit a slight roadblock on the ‘Stacey’ front.

“ _Sharon had some check stubs, didn’t she?”_ Gabriel asked. “ _Not everyone who worked for her was using a pseudonym. Maybe someone kept in touch with Stacey, knows her real name.”_

The idea struck him. He tapped his pencil on the edge of his desk. He hung up with Gabriel without notice and set to work. He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he hadn’t notice Donna standing in the doorway of his office. He sparred her a glance.

“You look like you're gonna throw up. Don't throw up in my office.”

“I screwed up.”

“You know the job, Donny. You screw up, you fix it. You're a fixer.”

“I’m not a fixer, I’m a secretary.” She bot her bottom lip. She nervously looked around. “Where’s Tessa?”

“What are you doing here?” Tessa called out from further up the hallway. Donna bit back a sigh and turned to face her executioner.

“When I came back from my call with you she disappeared. She’s at her house; I’m watching her door with her building’s he security feed from my phone. I came by to get you so you could fix this.”

Tessa looked extremely ticked off. Not particularly at Donna, but at the whole day’s mess. She grabbed her jacket and purse from the coat rack and headed out with Donna. They ran into Gabriel in the elevator bay as he was stepping off. He held the doors open for her and Donna.

“Sharon won't give up the list.”

“Good.” Tessa said, relieved. At least _something_ in this horrible day was going right.

The elevator doors beeped at him to close, but he kept his hand still. “We have a client in jail. She won't do the one thing that can get her out of jail. How is that possibly good?”

“If that list gets out, Kurt's ruined.” She turned leaned over Donna and pressed the button for their underground parking.

“Kurt's not our client.” Gabriel said, stunned that she would put someone else above the ones paying them. “Neither is my husband or the Ivory Tower, by the way. It's not your responsibility if they look bad, Tess. They’re all grown men who can handle their own problems.”

“I don't want to see a good man's reputation destroyed over something that is not true. It has nothing to do with the Tower.” Tessa said sternly, her tone implying that the conversation was over.

“Well, neither do I,” Gabriel sighed. “But we've already picked sides in this and our side is sitting in a New York jail.”

The elevator next to theirs dinged an arrival. The gate lifted and the doors swooshed open. Sam stepped out and saw Gabriel holding open an elevator. He peered inside and smiled.

“Good. I won't have to walk far.” He handed her a manila envelope. She kept her expression impassive and blank as she opened it. “Theresa Reagan, you've been served. That's a subpoena for Sharon Marcelles’ client list. You have two hours to produce it, so I'll see you in court.” He stepped into Tessa’s elevator and chuckled softly at his own innuendo, “Going down?”  

**OUTSIDE - PARK**

Who would've thought ex-hookers don't like talking about hooking? Lyall had spent the morning tracking down all of Sharon’s former employees trying to locate Crystal, the judge’s possible call-girl.

Lyall understood many things, but out-right paying for sex was not one of them. Sure her was under 25, but that didn’t make him a moron on the subject. It’s not like he’s never been with someone. What he does understand is that everyone pays for sex _somehow –_ dinner, drinks, movie tickets. To him, that’s acceptable.

This, and what Gabriel used to do, wasn’t.

Taking a deep breath, he casually walked up to his next subject – Inez Parks. She worked for Sharon in 1991. Now she was a mother and elementary school teacher. Right now, she was playing with her children.

“I said share. You have had enough, mister.” She gently scolded one of the young boys.

“Inez Parks?” Lyall asked as he walked up.

Inez took an unknowing step back towards her children when he approached. It couldn’t have been his clothes, he picked them out especially to blend in. He looked like a normal teenager – jeans, a nondescript grey t-shirt, and red converse. He’d thrown on a blue button up in the cab to cover-up his tattoos and he’d even taken out his eyebrow and lip ring. See? Less hoodlum, more respectable.

“Can I help you?” She eyed the tattoos on the side of his neck that couldn’t be covered by his shirt.

“Did you ever work for Sharon Marquette back in 1991?” He cautiously glanced at her children. “We're not looking for you. We're looking for a woman named Stacey. You both worked for Sharon at the same time.”

She patted her oldest son’s check and gave him a reassuring smile. “Take your brothers. Go and play with Jane and Andy, okay?” She patted their bottoms as they turned around. “Go ahead. Mommy will be there in just a minute.”

After a long moment of starring after her children, she turned back to Lyall. “What do you want to know?”  

**CYNTHIA BAXTER’S APARTMENT**

As they made their way up the stairs to Cynthia’s hallway, Tessa reminded Donna about their rolls. “I'll do the talking. You just stand there. Don't _do_ anything.”

Donna knew Tessa was angry so she let the verbal beatings come. They turned down the right hallway once they reached the landing. Cynthia’s apartment was the last on the hall. Tessa knocked. A moment later, Cynthia angrily opened the door.

It was a palatable awkward tension between the three of them.

“Do you know what you did to me the other day? Do you?” Tessa didn’t say anything. “You made me want to die. Literally, _actually_ die. I sliced myself open, and now you're standing here on my doorstep, which I can only assume is because you know I was telling the truth about Michael O’Rourke. That's why you're here. It's the only reason why you could be.”

“Cynthia.”

“Say it.”

“You don't-”

“Say it.”

Tessa’s calm exterior broke. “You were telling the truth about Michael O’Rourke.”

Donna stood off to the side, starring wide-eyed and open-mouthed between Tessa and Cynthia.

“Thank you.” Cynthia whispered. “Now get the hell away from me and leave me alone.”

She try to slam her door in their faces, but Tessa held her hand out and pushed it back open. She leaned forward across the threshold.

“You want to be left alone?” She leaned back, but kept her voice low. “A blogger posted a story about you today. Just a couple sentences, nothing major, but someone out there is going to follow up and want you to answer some questions. Do you know what you're going to say? E _xactly_ what you're going to say, to _every_ question, _every_ time someone calls? Because if you don't, there's gonna be _more_ questions from _more_ reporters.

You're going to say or do the wrong thing. You'll get flustered. You'll get upset, and you'll say something that will bring out the dogs. And what started out as two sentences on a blog nobody reads is going to turn into a full-blown tabloid scandal, and the tabloids are gonna feel like a walk in the park once the networks pick up the story. And they will, because this story has a scent. It smells like papers _sold_. It smells like _ratings_. Your face is going to be on the front page of every newspaper in the entire world, and there will be no leaving you alone then. You will never, _ever_ be alone again.

I made you want to die, and I'm sorry about that. I am not _proud_ of that. I'm not, but now I would like to help you. I can help you, if you let me.”

It was silent in that small hallway after Tessa’s speech. Cynthia starred at the floor, shaking her head. After a moment, she finally looked up at Tessa with tears threatening to spill. “Just leave me alone.”

She shut the door and this time Tessa didn’t try to stop her. Working to the loud clicks of the locks behind the door, Tessa pulled her business card out from her wallet and handed it to Donna.

“Write your cell phone number on here, and slide it under her door. In a few hours, she's going to call you, and you are gonna have to convince her to let us represent her.”

“How do you know she's gonna call?”

“Because I'm very good at my job,” her voice was laced shame.

She was ashamed to admit this wasn’t the first time she’s pushed somebody to the edge and fought to reel them back. She could always tell if the person she pushed would try and commit suicide, and she would be there, their knight in shining armor, to give them her pitch and save their life. Sometimes it was a ploy, but sometimes it was genuine. She was ashamed that she didn’t see what Cynthia Baxter was going to do. She would have stopped it.    

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

“You find our Stacey?” She asked Lyall as she stormed into the conference room. She placed her purse on the table and stripped out of her jacket, laying it on the back of a chair.

Lyall was leaning against the conference table, starring at the wall of Sharon’s clients and sipping tea from his Hello Kitty mug. “Nope, but we found somebody that knew her.” She handed Tessa Inez’s photo. “Said back in '91, she planned on moving out west with her boyfriend to Montana, Wyoming, one of the flyovers.”

“I'm off to court.” Gabriel announced, stepping out of his office and shrugging on his suit jacket. “You think that Zuckerman will buy this is a fishing expedition?”

“As a basis for quashing the subpoena?” Donna asked doubtfully as she walked in.

“She might.” Tessa pointed at Gabriel. She turned to Donna. “Zuckerman's old-school. It's the best we've got.” She turned back to Gabriel. “We need to keep that list from going public. Take Donna; she’s charming.”

Donna gave Gabriel a strained smile and raised her eyebrows. As the two left the office, Lyall murmured loud enough for Tessa to hear,

“I know I shouldn't care.”

“You should not care.” Tessa agreed with him.

He turned to her, arms crossed over his chest. “You're fine with the fact that he sleeps with prostitutes?”

“ _Used to_ sleep with high-end escorts,” Tessa reminded him with a smile. “He’s happily married to a wonderful man now, Lyall.”

“Everybody has secrets, Tess.”

“Yes, and most of them aren't pretty. In our line of work, I don't judge.” She wagged a finger at him. “Neither should you.”

“But why does a man like that,” Lyall turned to the wall of Sharon’s clients, “a reasonably attractive man, a man with nice clothes and a good job and wavy hair and a husband who loves him, why does a man like that-”

“His name is Gabriel.” Tessa said softly, biting back a smile.

“Why does Gabriel buy sex from whores?” Lyall shouted, turning to Tessa. She raised her eyebrow. Lyall softly chuckled. “I know. I shouldn't care. Why do I care? I'm not his husband.”

“No, you're not. But it should like you want to be….” Tessa could barely finish her sentence when the thought donned on her. She stood motionless, arms crossed, smile wavering on her lips, as she stared at Judge Kurt’s photo.

“Bingo,” she whispered.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**LOBBY**

Tessa walked confidently up to Olivia’s desk with a white bakery box in hand. She smiled presently. “One dozen red velvet cupcakes extra frosting, like you and the girls like 'em.”

“Of course you know cupcakes would never work, Ms. Reagan” But she accepted the cupcakes anyway. “Morris over there has a gun. He could shoot you, but I did get a call from Ms. Gadd.”

“Mr. O’Rourke's secretary?”

“She doesn’t like that word,” Olivia chastised under her breath as she picked up an official ID card. “Apparently Mr. O’Rourke wants you back on the list.”

“Thank you.” The ID cards with the metallic blue band on the top of the white card, the one Oliva gave her, were usually reserved for V.I.P guests. Apparently, Michael thought she was a V.I.P.

“'Course I don't know what kind of cupcakes you gave him.” She lightly threw after Tessa as she walked past Morris, the security guard.    

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**CONFERENCE ROOM LOBBY**

Inside the megalithic conference room, Michael, Justice Kurt, and a team of lawyers and other suits stood around arguing and trying to come up with solutions to give the President. They wanted to contain this situation, but someone tipped off the White House.

Mrs. Kurt was sitting alone in the small, yet plush lobby outside the conference room, looking in mournfully at her husband. Tessa spotted her immediately, but stood back.

“Stacey?” She called out, hopping her gut as right. Mrs. Kurt’s back stiffened. She calmly turned around as Tessa spoke. “You didn't even _flinch_ when you found out your husband had slept with a prostitute because it was you. _You_ put Ronald through law school, and you moved to Wyoming, and his dream became your dream, and you dedicated your life to making it real. You're Stacey. You're the reason he's on the list.”

Mrs. Kurt remained impassive. Tessa’s sympathy for this woman was dwindling by the second. Mrs. Kurt nodded to the seat cushion beside her on the couch. Tessa sat beside her and listened to her story.

“It was my first night, and I was so…so scared. I was sitting at the bar waiting for my date, and he was late, and I was afraid that he wasn't coming. All the girls had told me that there were no excuses with Sharon Marcelles; that you came back your first night out with your money or you were done. And she was the best. Her girls were _classy_. Call girls, you know? Not _whores_. So I sat at the bar, and I waited and I waited, and then Ronald came up to me.”

She smiled fondly remembering their meeting. “He could see that I'd been stood up and that I was pretty upset about it, and so he sat down, and he made me laugh. I had never hit it off with somebody like that right off the bat before.”

She laughed, putting a finger to her eyes to keep from shedding tears. She sobered after a moment, her voice lowering to a near whisper. “He didn't know, and I wasn't going to tell him. I liked him so I started seeing him. I-I told Sharon that he was a client, but I paid for all of our dates myself. You know, we didn't even have sex until our wedding night?”

“And you never told him the truth.” Tessa stated.

She shook her head vigorously. “Ronald would never understand. I mean, we needed the _money_. And-and he…he spent every night at the law school library studying. I told him that I got a second job working the night shift.” She chuckled darkly. “That's what I told myself I was doing. I was ‘working the night shift’. It's how we paid for Georgetown. It's how he got where he is today.” She started to tear up, her voice straining and cracking. “I love that man. I-I just I can't tell him that that his whole life was built on a lie.”

Tessa was too busy comforting Mrs. Kurt to notice Michael. He had turned from heatedly speaking with a lawyer to pick up a paper from the table when he happened to glance through the conference room window and spot Tessa reassuring Mrs. Kurt on a white couch in the lobby. He stood there, froze. Captivated by her.

“You have a good life with a man who makes you happy,” Tessa told her, taking her hands. “And no one lie can negate all that, but you have to tell him.” Feeling someone watching her, she glanced up and saw Michael through the window. Their eyes met. Starring at him, yet speaking to Mrs. Kurt, she said “If he finds out from someone who isn't you, it's going to break his heart.”

She was the first to look away.  

**MANHATTAN COURTHOUSE**

“This subpoena is a fishing expedition, your honor,” Gabriel said loudly, standing up from behind his table. “Plain and simple. It's an attempt to drag the hundreds of legal escort clients Sharon Marcelles has serviced into the mud.”

Sam angrily stood as well. “Name one single prostitution case where claiming ‘fishing expedition’ has actually worked. Just one.” He dropped his case file on the desk. “I'll wait.”

“Uh, Williams vs. Pennsylvania,” Donna said, standing. “Or maybe Davis vs. Florida is more your style. That was back in 1998.” She smiled innocently at the judge. “I can keep going, your honor.”

She held up her hand for silence, yet returned Donna’s smile. “Counsel, approach the bench, please.” When the three of them stood in front of her, she continued. “Are you aware you are all grown men, and women,” she nodded to Donna, “and that as such, it should be at least somewhat beneath you to waste my time on what seems to be no more than a _pissing_ match?”

“We are, your honor.” Sam and Gabriel chorused.

“Well, thank God for the little things.” The judge put her glasses back on as she turned to Gabriel and Donna. “Mr. Short and Ms. Martin, hand over that client list by noon tomorrow.” Cutting Sam’s victory smile short, the judge turned to him. “And Mr. Lynch, that woman's bail is coming down to something that wouldn't make Donald Trump feel extravagant. Now, let's all get back to making the world a better place.” She knocked her gavel signaling the end of their conversation. “Thank you.”

“What do we do now?” Donna asked as she and Gabriel walked back to their table.

“We gotta get Sharon the best defense attorney we can find.” Gabriel sighed.    

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**NIGHT**

Tessa stood outside Michael’s office in the reception area, watching discreetly through the glass as their marriage quickly crumbled. Michael had been gracious enough to allow them to speak privately in his office rather than the more public conference room. It was just Tessa and the Kurts on this part of the floor; given the late hour, everyone had already went home.

“He's the perfect jurist - methodical, analytical, nonpartisan. He lives by the letter of the law.” Michael said as he walked up behind her, yet stopping just a few feet away. “You chose well, but then you always do.”

“He would have been a great Supreme Court justice.” She said mournfully, not turning to speak to him. “I couldn't stop it. It's coming out.”

“I'll have to find another nominee for the President. Any suggestions?”

“I don't work for you anymore.”

Michael closed the distance between them until he was standing a breath’s distance behind her. He spoke low in his throat meaning to be quiet. “You think they'll get past this?”

“I don't know how they can.”

“I think that those two people want to be together. I think that love, at the end of the day, is stronger than some mistake somebody made.” As he spoke, it became increasingly clearer that he was no longer speaking of Mr. and Mrs. Kurt, but of them. “Something they did that they regret. I think that love allows for forgiveness.”

He dropped his hand out of his pocket and slowly reached out with his fingers for hers. Tessa breathed sharply. This whole time she had refused to look at him, instead focusing on the marriage being torn apart in front of her. Lies and secrets meant to protect one from the other ultimately destroyed them. She fought every impulse in her to turn to him as his fingers gently, almost like a whisper, caressed hers.

“I have to go,” she gasped.

“Tess.”

She took her hand away and finally turned to him. He was so close, yet she wanted to be so far away. “It's done. Everybody loses. Let it go.”

She tried to step away, but Michael only stepped forwards. “Tess, please.”

“What do you imagine that there is left to say?” She demanded, her voice breaking.  

“Everything.” He whispered.

“Or nothing.” She found the strength to pull away. This time he let her go. As he watched her go, he heard the raised voices of the Kurts drifting from his office.

“It's not an act of love!”

“Please try to understand.”

“I understand.” Ronald growled. “I understand that you're a _liar_ , and that you have cost us everything that mattered in this damn world!”  

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME**

**BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN**

Tessa didn’t know where else to turn to. As soon as she got into her car she drove. Aimlessly and without thought, she drove. It was an hour later than she found herself parked outside of her father’s home. As she pulled up to the curb and parked, the security team that practically lived in the dark SUV outside the house got out with one hand on their holster, the other with a raised flashlight. They lowered their flashlights almost immediately after seeing that it was Tessa.

            The guard on the driver’s side gently tapped on Tessa’s window. Tessa didn’t respond, just sat numbly in her seat, hands gripping her steering wheel. The guards glanced at one another..

            “Miss Reagan,” Guard 1 tapped again on the window. “Miss Reagan, are you alright?”

            “I-I…” Tessa tried to get out, but her throat seemed to close. All she could think about was the other possibility of the night. What if she had stayed? What if she had leaned into Michael’s suggestion? She would be with him tonight, in bliss…..

            She’s broken from her thoughts as Guard 2 shines his flashlight into the car, the light biting in her eyes. She blinks, shaking her head.

            Tessa rolls down her window and looks up hazily at Guard 1. “What?”

            “Miss Reagan, are you alright? Would you like me to call your father out here?”

            “No, no,” She shakes her head, clearing out the fog. She clears her throat. “No, that’s alright, thank you. I-I’m heading in, anyway.”

            “Yes ma’am.” Guard 1 opens the driver’s door for Tessa as she shuts off the engines. She takes her purse and heads up the drive. The blinds of the living room window fluttered. Someone was up.

            Before she could put her hand on the door, it opened. Her grandfather stood there in his flannel pajamas. “You look like crap, kid.”

            She gave a watery chuckle. Feeling her eyes tear up, she stepped forward and embraced her grandfather. She as slightly taller than he was so she had to lean over a bit to fit her face in the crook of his neck.

            “Easy there,” he whispered in her ear. He kept one hand on the door while the other one rubbed her back. “Easy there.”

            After a moment, she pulled back, sniffling and wiping her nose and the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands.

            “Sorry Gramps.”

            “The bars open,” Henry nodded his head back at the mini-bar in the living room and winked.

            She gave him a smile and patted his cheek. As she walked further into the house and into the living room, she saw her father standing by the bar, two drinks in his hands. He held one out to her.

            She graciously accepted it. She sniffed – whiskey. She raised an eyebrow.

            “Looked like you could use something strong.” He kissed the top of her head. “Rough day at work?”

            She raised her glass at him. “Something like that.”

            She sat on the couch and nearly downed the low-ball glass. She closed her eyes and held the back of her hand to her lips, letting the alcohol burn down her throat and numb her mind.

            “That bad?” Henry scoffed. He fixed himself a drink, too, yet not something as strong as whiskey. He took a seat in his armchair. Frank did the same, sipping his drink.

            “How’s your case going?” Frank asked as nonchalantly as he could. “Erin said you and the U.S. Attorney had a dinner riding on the outcome.”

          “Looks I’m buying this time. Italian, Korean…maybe Indian.” She swirled her whiskey, chuckling softly. “Sam hates Indian.”

            “Sounds like you and this attorney are pretty close.” Henry remarked. Frank gave him a look, but Henry ignored it. “He the one upsetting you?”

            “Sam and I are….close.” She sipped her drink. “And no, he didn’t upset me. Work upset me. Life in general upset me.”

She got quiet. She debated whether or not to mention Michael. The more she drank the more willing to confess all her problems to her father. He was the strongest person she knew. He could fix any problem there was. All she had to do was tell him….

Thankfully for her sake, her cell rang. She reached into her purse and checked the collar I.D. It was Gabriel’s office line.

“Reagan,” Tessa answered.

_“I'm gonna head down to the U.S. attorney's office with the list.”_ Tessa sighed. “ _Hey, just think of the bright side.”_

“What bright side, Gabe? Our client is going to jail, a man’s career and marriage ruined, many more to follow. How is there a bright side? We lost.”

“ _Think of it this way - the list gets out and we get potential clients, every one of these guys.”_

“Yeah…There's a lot of power up on that wall.” She sipped her drink. As the thought hit her, shet spat it out, chocking.

“ _Tessa_?” Gabriel asked curiously. Frank got up from his chair to check on her, but Tessa waved him off. Her eyes were wide and alert. She stood up and frantically began collecting her things.

“Do _not_ leave that office. Get everyone – Lyall, Donna. Get them now!”

“What’s going on?” Henry asked.

Tessa downed the rest of her whiskey, throwing her head back as if she were doing shots. She sat the glass down on the coffee table and walk around the couch to kiss Henry and her father.

“Thank for the whiskey.” She hurried to the door, stumbling slightly as she did. Frank followed behind her.

“I don’t think you should be driving.”

“I’d ask you to drive me, dad,” She opened the door and turned to smile at him, “but what I’m about to do, the Police Commissioner should really not be involved in.”

What she was about to do wasn’t illegal, but it wasn’t very tasteful either.

**VARIOUS LOCATIONS AROUND NEW YORK**

**MORNING**

Gabriel, freshly dressed in a new suit, spent his morning going around to the more powerful members of the ‘client list’. They’ve spent most of the night in Tessa’s office coming up with their plan, fine tuning the details, and getting Sharon on board. They only had until noon to make this all work before Gabriel had to give Sam the client list.

His first stop was a Senator’s office. Interrupting the Senator while he was speaking to his colleagues, Gabriel tapped him on the shoulder. The Senator turned and Gabriel held out his hand to shake, greeting him with,

“Sunny day.”

The Senator’s face fell in understanding. On and on the morning went with encounters like that, handshakes and strange greetings to the elected officials of New York.

“Hardwood floors,” at the courthouse. “Trip to the islands?” at Wall Street. And finally, “Do you speak Greek?” in the men’s restroom of the largest P.A.C in New York.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

The most powerful and influential men on the list all sat around the wooden conference table, starring at their pictures on the window. Tessa drew their attention as she stepped in front of them.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I realize you may not be united ideologically,” She spoke as she slowly moved around the table, keeping their attention on her, “but thankfully screwing around seems to be a _bipartisan_ effort. And you all have one thing in common - the services of my client, Sharon Marcelles.” She nodded to the back of the room where Sharon stood silently, leaning against the wall.

“And while the two of us don't care how you spend your free time, your constituents might. I think we can all be in agreement that this small business owner should not be unduly harassed by the law. Am I right?”

“Lady,” A white haired, round man spoke up. His cheeks were flushed read and his suit looked a sixe too small. “I have no idea what you think you're talking about, but I have a lunch to get to, so if you'll excuse me.”

“Oh, Charlie.” Sharon purred as the man stood up. “She's talking about how you like to go around the world, dear twice in one night, if you take your pills.”

Charlie sat down without another word. Sharon smiled at Tessa.

“Glad to see we're all in agreement.” Tessa laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “And I'm gonna need just one more thing.”  

**TESSA REAGAN’S BROWNSTONE APARTMENT**

            Tessa and Sam sat on the brown brick stoop of her apartment, watching the news on Sam’s tablet and eating the Mexican take-out he brought with him. On the small screen that sat between them, Senator Charlie Hall spoke to Chanel 10 reporters. The headline read ‘ _Senate Judiciary Committee expects Kurt nomination to sail through_.”

_“My reversal on Judge Keating is a simple matter of reviewing the facts and my personal feeling that he's the best man for the job.”_

Sam closed the tablet, and with it Charlie’s forced smile. “Just tell me who was on the list.”

“You know I can't do that,” Tessa said around a mouthful of vegetable fajita.

“I mean, I can guess who was on it,” Sam stabbed his food repeatedly, “given the long list of calls my boss got right before he ordered me to drop the case.”

“Sam, you got what you wanted. Everybody wins.” Tessa smiled. Sam didn’t looked convinced. “She's out of the business, liquidating her assets, buying a place in Florida with extra bedrooms for the grandkids.” She took a stab at Sam’s food and brought it to her mouth. “The stain on the city's moral landscape is gone.”

“Right.” Again, he was not convinced.

“Unless you're not actually a white hat,” Tessa led on casually, “and what you were after was the high-profile fame-and-fortune thing all along.”

Sam closed his half-eaten take-out container. “You realize, don't you, that this is why we can never be friends?”  

“We’re being friendly right now.”

“This isn’t friendly. This is me bribing you with take-out to tell me who was on the list.”

“To me,” she took a bite of her fajita, “that’s what friends do.”

“To me,” Sam stole a bite of her fajita, “sounds like you have a pretty crappy definition of ‘friend’.”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE - NIGHT**

Michael walked around his office, a glass of brandy in his hand. He started drinking after he got off the phone with the President and his office over two hours ago. Now, he was drunk. Christopher sat on the couch watching him, not speaking.

“And, lo, the day was saved by Theresa Reagan, as usual. Tessa helped us. She's not against us.”

“Mm.” Christopher hummed, his finger on his lips.

“Really, you're not talking to me now?” Michael raised his glass to his lips and downed the rest of the glass. “A man more powerful than the leader of the free world, your best friend and boss, is slightly inebriated and thinking about going to his ex-fiancé, the best friend and boss of your _husband_ , and loosing himself in her. I think that would warrant a lecture, at least some words from his majesty Christopher Neilson, king of me.”

“What do you want me to say? You won't tell me anything.” He waved his hand, disregarding himself. “I'm obviously not someone you trust, so you just stand there alone in your Ivory Tower. Have a party.”

Christopher got from the couch, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked to the door. Gabriel would be waiting up for him. His hand was on the door handle when Michael called out.

“I know I don't get to do what other men do. I get it. I wear the invisible crown. And that's fine. There's a price. But Tess.” Michael bit his lip and looked away. His eyes were beginning to water. His voice cracked when he spoke. “She is the love of my life, Chris, and she won't even talk to me.” He looked down at his empty glass and pointed it at Chris. “We do not talk about this tomorrow.”

Chris debated on whether or not to leave. His friend clearly needed him, yet right now all he wanted to do was yell at him. After a moment of looking at the pathetic drunk man in front of him, he decided to stay. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass.

“You hate scotch.” Michael said, confused as he watched Chris.

“I do. But I don't tonight, not with you.” He walked over to Michael and stood beside him. He raised the glass to his lips. “And we won't talk about it tomorrow.”

“You're on my side.” Michael smiled.

“I'm on your side, Michael.”

**WORLD TRADE CENTER MEMORIAL**

Donna got out of her cab and quickly rushed to the crying woman on the curb.

“I'm sorry I called you so late.” Cynthia apologized as Donna sat down beside her, handing her a tissue. “I don't know. I just got scared, like maybe somebody was watching my place. I know that sounds crazy.”

“No, that's okay.” Donna laid a comforting hand on Cynthia’s arm.

“A reporter called my parents,” she sniffled. “Asked them why I wanted to kill myself. They were having dinner. It's already happening, isn't it?”

“I was in trouble once. I was alone, and it was awful, but I had had someone. Someone who knew what I should say and what I should do. I had Tessa Reagan by my side.”

Cynthia nodded, pocketing her tissue. She stood up and rubbed her eyes on the back of her hand. “What’s next?”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**LOBBY**

            Donna gave Tessa a ‘heads-up’ text as she brought Cynthia back to the offices. When they came through the office doors, Tessa was waiting for them by Donna’s reception desk. She was going to say something, but Cynthia raised her hand.

“I'm here, okay, but we do this on my terms.”

“You'll be glad you came. I promise.” Tessa assured her. She nodded to Donna. Donna smiled warmly at Cynthia and placed a hand on her back to lead her back into the offices. There was a knock on the door that stopped them.

“Hello?” The person called out. He poked his curly brown head in and Donna saw that it was Gregory Williams. He smiled, surprised, when he saw Donna. “Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” Donna demanded.

“Donna, who's this?” Tessa asked. She motioned Cynthia to come to her. She placed herself protectively between Cynthia and the newcomer.

“The reporter from the hospital. Gregory.” She mirrored Tessa. “What are you doing here?”

“I need a quote for my story.” Gregory said innocently enough.

“Your story?” Tessa chuckled darkly. She walked forward and Donna took her place in front of Cynthia. “You don’t have a story. You don’t have anything. So go home.”

“No.”

Tessa looked taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“She tried to kill herself the day after she quit working at the Ivory Tower.” Gregory pointed at Cynthia then at Donna. “And she lied about who she works for. And now they’re both here, in this office, with you. Now I may just be a reporter for a dying newspaper, but you’re Tessa Reagan. So…no.” Tessa could see a glint in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitch. “No, I didn’t have a story. But now I do.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa is hazardously dividing her time between her clients, medaling in police business, and her own sordid affairs. Can she keep it all together?

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME**

**BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK**

**NIGHT**

            It had been nearly three days since Tessa’s small breakdown in her father’s living room. It was good of both her father and grandfather not to mention it when she showed up earlier this evening for dinner after work. Their load was light tonight, going over documents and such before the court hearing tomorrow morning.

            Right now, she was sitting on the couch, her work splayed in front of her on the coffee table, double checking all her bases. Her father sat comfortably in her arm chair opposite her reading the newspaper. Jamie was fixing himself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee for ‘breakfast’ before heading out for the graveyard shift. At the kitchen table, she could plainly hear her older brother, Danny, trying to put together a remote-control car for his son with the help of their grandfather.

            “You’re forcing it,” Henry said.

            “I’m not forcing it,” Danny snapped back. “A ten year old can assemble this thing.”

            “Your wife can assemble this thing,” Henry grumbled under his breath, yet they all heard him. Tessa chuckled.

            “Dad,” Danny whined/called out from the kitchen, reminding Frank of when Danny was younger. “Can you come in here and give me a hand with this thing?”

            “You need a degree in mechanical engineering for that,” Frank replied casually enough, not taking his eyes off of his paper.

            “What about you, Tess?”

            “Sorry, Danny, too busy undermining the District Attorney’s office at the moment.”

            “Better not let your sister hear-”

            “Let me hear what?” Erin asked as she walked through the front door. She looked exhausted, her sensible pants suit wrinkled. She put her purse on the table behind the couch.

            “That my guy is going to kick your guy’s ass tomorrow in court.” Tessa looked up at Erin and smiled sweetly.

            “Travis Harding is accused of raping-”

            “Falsely accused of an alleged rape-”

            “Counselors,” Frank said loudly before his daughter erupted into a deafening argument. He folded his paper over and placed it in his lap. “Save the arguments for the court room.”

            Tessa childishly stuck her tongue out at Erin as she walked over to kiss Frank’s cheek. She cleaned up her papers and put them back in her briefcase. She didn’t think her sister would look at them, but Tessa doesn’t like taking chances with wealthy, well-paying clients.

            Erin sat down heavily next to Tessa. “What’re you doing here? You’re usually hulled up in your office the night before a court case.”

            “I’m listening to Danny play with toys that are a little beyond his skill set -”

            “Hey!” Danny yelled from the kitchen. “I heard that!”

“Which is much more enjoyable.”      

            Jamie walked out of the kitchen with two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. He spotted Erin and smiled. “Hey, the gangs’ all here!” He bent down to careful hand Tessa her cup.

            “Hey, college boy, wanna give me a hand with this thing?” Danny called out as Jamie was walking back towards the kitchen for his cereal.

            “You’re pathetic,” Jamie sighed, but started helping anyway.

            Tessa’s phone started ringing loudly. Since it was on the coffee table, she glanced down at the caller ID. It was Christopher Neilson. She hit the red ignore button with a grumble. Erin gave her a funny look.

            “Everything okay?” Erin asked. She shot their dad a sideways look. When she told him about Tessa’s dinner-date bet with Sam Lynch, Frank told her about Tessa’s small break down. Since Tessa draws a thick line between family and work, they were left guessing about what could have upset her so much.

            “Peachy keen, jelly bean,” Tessa smiled. The smile didn’t reach her eyes; it was flat. She avoided the topic. “What about you? Why’re you home?”

            “No reason,” Erin shrugged.

            “If I were going through a divorce and my kid went off on a long trip with her father, I would want to come home, too.” Frank said, low enough that only Erin and Tessa could hear.

            Tessa put her head on Erin’s shoulder and held her hand. She had forgotten that tonight Niki was leaving with her father for a two week trip to San Francisco. Erin laid her cheek on top of Tessa’s head.

            “She’s just so happy about it,” Erin sighed.

            “Is it a nice trip?” Frank asked.

            “Yeah, but Jack doesn’t even like San Francisco.”

            “Sounds like a nice trip.” Frank said as his cell phone began ringing. He got up and stepped out of the room to take the call. A moment later, Danny’s cell began ringing.

            “Guess something press worthy is going down…” Tessa mumbled. She picked her phone off the table and quickly typed out a message to Lyall. Erin glared at her.

            “Police business, Theresa.”

            “Concerned citizen, Erin.”

            “Hey, kid,” Danny said, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and slapping Jamie on the back of the head, “you’re going to have to finish that on your own.”

            “Can’t!” Jamie called after him. “I’ve got to work a midnight. I was supposed to leave five minutes ago!”

            “Sorry,” Danny smiled. He nodded to Frank, who was still on his call. “See you Sunday, Granpa.”

            Danny leaned over and kissed Erin and Tess on the cheek before he left out the front. Jamie shook his head and cleaned up his plate.

            “Hey,” Henry tapped his cane on the ground. “A little help in here?”

            Erin and Tessa exchanged looks. Simultaneously, they held up their hands for a rock-paper-scissors decision. Before they could start, Tessa’s phone rang. She smiled and winked while Erin glared. She took her sniffer glass into the dining room to help their grandpa.

            She waited till Erin was talking to Henry before she answered the phone. It was Lyall.

            “What’s going on?”

            _“Six men with box cutters and knives, one gun, one camera, walked onto the subway earlier this evening. By all accounts they were attempting to rob the passengers. Shots were fired, looking to be from a nine millimeter. No passengers shot, but there’s blood at the scene.”_

            “Perpetrators?”

            _“Nothing on cameras. Police are thinking they fled through the tunnels.”_

            “Danny’s on the case; the Commissioner got the same call. Do you know why yet?”

_“Given the few minutes I’ve been on this-”_

            “Lyall.”

            _“The guys doing these subway robberies have been at it all over the city. Since they had a camera, good bet they’re recording it for posterity.”_

            “And posterity means Internet.”

            “ _Correct, O’ Fearless Leader.”_

            “Thanks Lyall. Dig up all you can for now. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”

            “ _Will do. Wonder boy out.”_

**TRIAL - DAY ONE**

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**MORNING**

          Cynthia Baxter was sitting in the conference room, nervously tapping her foot. She watched Tessa, Gabriel, and Lyall talking in Tessa’s office through the window. They were facing her, looking at her, and undoubtedly talking about her.

         “I don't know how you take it,” Donna broke Cynthia’s reprieve, walking in with a tray containing a cup of coffee, a saucer of cream, and a small bowl of sugar. “Cream or sugar, so I brought both.”

          “I don't take it.” She accepted her cup anyway with a small smile. She nodded to Tessa’s office. “Do they always do this?”

          Donna didn’t have to look to know what she was talking about. “Yeah. They do that.”

          “Good. I was starting to think it was me or something.”

          “It is you.” Donna gently touched her shoulder. “They're talking about you, Cynthia. Everyone's gonna be talking about you.”  

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

         The group was discussing Cynthia Baxter’s case – or rather, if they should take it or not. There was already a divide.

         “No. No way.” Gabriel shook his head.

         “Are you kidding?” Lyall sighed.

         “What if she's lying?”

         “What if she's not?” Lyall leaned around Gabriel to better see Tessa, “I vote yes.”

         “We're not voting.” Tessa told him.

         Gabriel turned to Tessa, keeping his back to Lyall. “It's Clinton, except without the presidency, the blue dress, and any kind of proof.”

         “Who needs proof?” He held his hand out to Cynthia in the other room. “The girl said she slept with the Michael Croft.”

         “Tess worked at the Ivory Tower and has a prior relationship with Croft, my _husband_ is Croft’s second-in-command. This case is _rolling_ in conflict of interest.”

         “Oh, please call me when you grow a pair.” Lyall rolled his eyes.

         “We're not voting.” Tessa stated again.

         “She seems scared.” Donna said as she walked in. “I'd vote yes if we were voting.”

          Tessa’s cell phone began ringing in her coat pocket back at her desk. As she walked over there, she clearly stated with finality, “We're not voting. She's ours. We're keeping her. It's done.” She took out her cell on the third ring. “Theresa Reagan.”

 _“Tessa, its Sandra. He didn’t make it to court this morning_.”

          “We’ll find him, Sandra. Gabriel will be there in a moment.” She hung up and pulled on her jacket while she gave orders. “Day one and Travis didn’t show. Gabriel, go to court and help the defense stall.”

          “I’m gonna have to get creative.”

          “Then get creative.” She dropped her cell in her purse and started walking to the door. “Lyall, find Gregory Williams at the ‘N.Y. Sun’. I want to talk to him today. Also, call me in ten minutes with what you have regarding the subway incident. Donna, take Cynthia home, pack up her things, make sure-”

          She held open the door for Tessa. “No one is following her and set her up at your apartment. Got it.”

**TESSA’S CAR**

            Lyall’s call connected to Tessa’s hands-free car Bluetooth as Tessa pulled out of her parking spot.

            “What do you have?”

            _“Your brother’s on the case. You can what I’m about to tell you from him, you know that, right?”_

            “Yes, but you’re so much more nice to talk to.”

            _“Flattery will get you everywhere.”_ Lyall chuckled. “ _Like I said last night – Detective Reagan reported on scene, platform two Newkirk Ave, a little after midnight. There were six suspects armed with box cutters, knives and one gun. They also had a camera.”_

            “They think the suspects are putting footage of their robberies on the internet?”

            _“Correct. Passengers in the next car heard the gunshots, saw what was happening, and pulled the cord. Everyone scrambles to the platform, stepping in blood as they go. Police are thinking the suspects fled down to the tracks. Cameras didn’t pick up them leaving. Uniforms are covering stations north and south; K-9 units sniffed the tracks.”_

            “They find anything?”

            _“Not before your brothers did.”_

            “Brothers. As in more than one?”

            “ _Yeah. Camera footage shows Danny hitching a ride with Jamie and his sergeant, a guy named Anthony Renzulli”_

            “What was Jamie doing there?”

            _“He had a prisoner drop at the six-five. Danny got in and the car followed the two-train line. There’s an emergency exit by the playground at Nostrand and Tilden Ave.”_

            “Was the hatch popped?”

            _“Yeah. Cops followed a blood trail to a corpse sitting on a bench nearby. African-American male shot twice in the abdomen.”_

            “And his buddies left him there to die. Says a lot about who they’re dealing with.”

            _“Blood at the scene matches the deceased. Still waiting on ballistics to confirm, but he was defiantly there.”_

 _“_ Did you get a name?”

            _“Yeah. Police were real slow about logging that information. Name’s Lee Cranston.”_

            “Is he a regular?”

            _“Surprisingly no. No arrests. No gang affiliations.”_

            “Then why was he there?”

            _“Still sorting that out.”_

            “Alright,” Tessa sighed. “What about the commissioner? One Police Plaza would know more.”

            _“No doubt, but I haven’t gone that far.”_

            “Why not?”

            _“Wasn’t sure you’d want me in your father’s system. I mean, as secure as 1PP is, I can still get around it.”_

            After a moment’s thought Tessa made her decision. “Alright. Do it. But _be careful_.”

            _“Will do.”_

**COURTHOUSE**

Judge Tolliver Morris impatiently removed his glasses from his face. “I'm losing my patience, Mr. Cole.”

Mr. Cole, the attorney for accused rapist and current no-show Travis Harding, stood up. “Uh, I'm told he'll be here very soon, your honor. A Presidential motorcade is blocking-”

“Ah.” Judge Morris gently tossed his glasses on his desk. “Yet, here we are.”

Alexis Jones, an ADA in Erin’s office, stood up as well. She made her remarks staring smugly at the jury, “Perhaps the defendant should take one of his helicopters, your honor.”

Mr. Cole noticed a notable shift in the jury’s attitude. Some faces registered annoyance as well as disgust. He sat back down and glanced over his shoulder at Gabriel. Gabriel pulled his call phone out of the breast pocket of his suit and punched in speed dial.

We're running out of time, Tess,” He whispered. He caught Alexis’ eye. She smiled.

**FORDMAN HOTEL**

Tessa walked as quickly as her black Louis Vuitton hells could carry her down the lengthy hallway of the Fordman Hotel. She had her Bluetooth earpiece in.

“Well, keep stalling.” She ordered Gabriel. When she reached Travis’ door – 303 West – she loudly banged. If he was just sleeping, that would surely wake him up.

“Room service. We've got your breakfast.” She called though the door before banging again.

A moment later, a drowsy young women with blonde hair and a crinkled suit shirt held to her naked body opened the door. “I don't think we ordered any….”

Tessa sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “I love my job,” she sarcastically muttered more to herself. She turned back to the young women with a smile. “You might want to put on some clothes for this.” She pushed open the door and walked past her to the bedroom. “Excuse me.”

Laying facedown, naked in a bed of messy white sheets was her client’s son, Travis Harding. She leaned over and slapped his naked rear while yelling, “Up and at 'em, Trav!”

“Oh-ho-ho!” He jerked, rolling over to get a look while still modestly covering himself. “Tessie!” He smiled. He rolled over even more to the point he was laying on his back. “How the hell are ya?”

She smiled back at him. “I'm fine. You're late.”

“Hey,” Travis called out to the blonde behind Tessa trying to gather her clothes, pointing to Tess, “do you know who this is?! This is the Theresa Reagan. She's amazing. She works for the...” Drawing a blank, he snapped his fingers and looked back at Tessa. “Who do you work for now, the White House, CIA, FBI?”

“Today? Your mother.”

Travis’ face fell. “Oh, crap.”

Tessa turned her back while Travis scrambled out of bed to put on his clothes. “She's not too thrilled about the fact that you were late for court on your first day of trial.” She saw a lacey black bra on the floor. She picked it up gingerly and held it out for the blonde. “Is this what you're looking for?”

The woman snatched it back. Tessa rudely lifted an eyebrow.

“Just give me, like, two minutes. All right?” He held a pillow to his crotch as he looked around the floor. “Where are my pants?!”

“Whoa.” Tessa held up her hand. “Why don't we why don't we rinse the booze off first? Judge will appreciate that.”

Travis sighed. “I-I know I've been hitting it pretty hard lately, going out. I've just been so stressed out.”

“A rape charge does it to the best of us.” A Tessa said that, the blonde stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Travis. She glanced to Tessa to check if she was joking.

“I-I didn't do it.-” Travis hastily stuttered, holding out his hand to the woman.

“I know. I believe you.” Tessa smiled reassuringly. She pointed to the bathroom behind Travis. “Now let's go work on that judge and jury.”

When Travis was safely shut in the bathroom, she turned to the blonde woman. She was partially dressed, the rest of her belongs and one black heel in her hands. Tessa picked the other heel off the TV mantel and held it out.

“You,” she called waving the shoe. The woman walked over to get it, but Tessa pulled back. “May I ask a favor?”

**COURTHOUSE**

Judge Morris, banged his gavel. “Court's adjourned. Back here at 2:00 with your defendant, or I'll lock him up for the rest of the trial.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Mr. Cole nodded. He smiled over his shoulder at Gabriel.

Sitting in the bench beside him was Travis’ mother. He smiled at her. “How are you holding up, Sandra?”

“I can't lose him, Gabriel. I _won't_ lose him.”

“I know.” He patted her hand. “I know.”

**HOTEL**

**UNDERGROUND ACCESS**

“Is there anything you _didn't_ take care of, Tess?” Travis said amazed. The woman he slept with last night was being escorted through the service entrance out back by a hotel employee Tessa paid off occasionally for information. She didn’t trust him, but he trusted her money.

“Your hotel bill.” She pulled it up on her phone and showed it to him. “It's a doozy.”

“Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” Travis shouted when he saw it. He laughed all the way to the car Tessa had parked by the exit.

**ONE POLICE PLAZA**

**PARK ROW, MANHATTAN**

            The department was bussing with activity when Tessa arrived. She brought brunch with her as a way to get through her father’s security with minimal questioning. As she walked to her father’s office, she glanced around for Abigail. Detective 1st Grade Abigail Baker is a part of her father’s (Detectives) Squad and is his primary aide. She hated being called his secretary.

            She must have been out doing something for Frank because she wasn’t at her desk out in front of the Commissioner’s office. Which was lucky for Tessa because Abigail would have made her wait here, and not in Frank’s office, until the Commissioner was ready to see her.

            Walking into her father’s office, she didn’t see anyone but heard voices. They were coming from the adjacent conference room. The doors were open and the voices of her father and another familiar voice drifted out. Chief Sheppard from Brooklyn South would be Tessa’s best guess considering last night’s robbery and shooting.

            She quietly set up brunch on her father’s coffee table as she listened to their conversation.

            “Six perps in last night’s train robbery – male white, black, and Hispanic.” Chief Sheppard reported.

            “Multiethnic gang,” Frank grumbled.

            “Ages sixteen to twenty.” Chief Sheppard continued “The leader had a nine millimeter pistol. Witnesses have conflicting stories. No one is sure why he opened fire, or at who.”

            “But you have a dead perp.”

            “Lee Cranston – no arrests, no gang affiliations. We’re waiting on ballistics. Our one theory is that he was being tried out, did something wrong and got shot for his trouble”

            “But you have a better theory, Mike.”

            Chief Sheppard chuckled. “An accident. The leader got excited, popped off a few shots, and did us a favor.”

            There was a pause and Tessa heard the click of computer keys before Chief Sheppard spoke again. “Two witnesses identified Steve Jackson as the leader. Street name – Handsome. He’s still at large. Transit likes him for three other robberies on the number two line in Flatbush in last month.”

            “Not just robberies. Rape, aggrevated assult…” It sounded like Frank was reading. Out of ‘Handsome’s’ file maybe?

            Tessa sent out a text to Lyall to gather info about ‘Handsome’ and his crew as well as the robbery footage.

            “It’s not just about the money. He gets off on the violence. I mean, controlling a trainload of people? He’s got the whole neighborhood terrorized. The gun’s a new twist and the gun’s an escalation.”

            “Why the hell has he had time to escalate?” It sound like Frank tossed the file on the conference table.

            “We’re staked out on his mom’s and girlfriend’s apartments. We’ve even reached out to Newark PD to sit on his cousin’s house. The last four weeks, he’s been a ghost.”

            “And the perps?”

            Tessa heard them moving. She pocketed her cell and shifted on the couch to give her a more nonchalant look on the couch.

            “No IDs yet. We’ve arrested twelve of his crew off previous complaints. But we take two off the street, Handsome recruits two more-”

            Chief Sheppard stopped talking when he saw Tessa sitting on the couch. If she were any other lawyer or perhaps a cop, he would continue, but as far as the entirety of the police department was concerned – Tessa Reagan plays for the dark side. He shot Frank a sideways look. Frank gestured to the door. He gave his final orders as he walked Chief Sheppard out,

            “Transit triples coverage on every two line station from Atlantic to Flatbush. Cop on every train, extra patrol coverage in Flatbush. I want the community to know we’re there for them.”

            “Commissioner,” Chief Sheppard shook Frank’s hand. He nodded over Frank’s shoulder to Tessa. “Ms., Reagan.”

            “Chief,” Tessa nodded back.

            The Chief shared one last look with the Commissioner before leaving. Frank turned to his daughter with his hands in his pockets and a disapproving look on his face.

            “Theresa-”

            “Don’t worry Commissioner,” Tessa held up his food. “I come bearing gifts.”

            Frank sighed and sat down in a wing chair beside her. “You come seeking information. Information you just eavesdropped on.”

            “Nothing I couldn’t have gotten from Lyall.” She gave Frank a fork and smiled. “But that way you wouldn’t have gotten delicious brunch from D’Ellia”

            Frank smiled and accepted his food. “In all seriousness, Theresa, you cannot meddle in police business.”

“I’m a concerned citizen, dad.”

“It’s obstruction of justice, sweetie.” When Tessa didn’t say anything, Frank sighed and changed the subject. “Besides, you have your own cases to worry about. How’s that going?”

“Sorry, dad,” Tessa popped a piece of omelet in her mouth, shrugging. “Attorney-client privilege.”

“Nothing I can’t get from your sister.” Frank retorted casually. Tessa nearly choked on her omelet. Frank chuckled.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

Tessa and Sandra were relaxing comfortably in Tessa’s office, sipping coffee and the couch. They have known each other for a while now; Sandra being one of Tessa’s first clients. Keeping an eye on the case and hunting down Travis were a favor to her.

“He really did forget what time the trial started.”

“Sandra-” Tessa shook her head.

“You're right. He screwed up.”

“He's lucky the judge didn't throw him back in jail. This isn't a parking ticket. He's on trial for rape.”

“He didn't do it.” Sandra raised her voice. “He _didn't_ rape that girl.”

“I believe you,” Oliva held out her hand. “But if I'm the jury, I'm already resenting him for wasting my time.”

“Which is why I would like _you_ on this thing. You can guide our defense team, keep Travis in line.”

“Unh-unh. No way.” Tessa wagged her finger, taking a sip of coffee. “Today was just a favor.”

“Tessa-”

“Sandra, I love you. I love your son.” She put her cup on the coffee table between them. “But I am on retainer for your company, not your family. I help with mergers and P.R. I don't babysit 27 year olds.”

“I know that Travis is irresponsible.” Sandra set her cup beside Tessa’s. “I know that. I try to tell him that he has to step up, fix his own mistakes. Part of it is on me. After Hal died, he went through a very rough time, and I didn't always have the time to help him sort through all of that stuff.” She took a breath and became defensive. “And these girls see the son of a rich C.E.O. and they get dollar signs in their eyes. That girl is _not_ the victim here. Travis is!” She leaned forward. “Please. You've handled difficult clients before.”

“Not ones who didn't show up in court.” She raised her eyebrow. “And I already got Travis one of the best defense lawyers in New York. I would have referred you to my sister if she wasn’t the one prosecuting him. He doesn't need me.”

“I’m the one that needs you. I spend all day listening to people who tell me what they think I want to hear. You are the only one who will give it to me straight. I need someone on our side who I can trust.”

Tessa picked up her cup and leaned back in the couch cushion, mulling the offer over. On the one hand, she keeps her client’s son out of prison; on the other hand, she’ll be going against her sister which is a massive conflict of interest. Last night, she was just gloating for the sake of it, getting Erin riled up. But now….

She purged her lips. “People don't say no to you very often, do they?”

“Probably about as often as they say no to you.”  

They shared a smile.

**LATER THAT NIGHT**

Tessa was sitting alone in her office finishing up paperwork of other clients. It was nearly ten. Her office was dark, the only light was from her desk lamp and from the city lights through her open curtains. She had barely registered how late it had gotten until Lyall knocked on her office door, nearly startling her out of her chair.

            “Knock knock,” Lyall said as he walked in. She smiled at his appearance. He was wearing a two-piece pajama replica of the Star Trek the Next Generation uniform – gold top with the communicator badge and rank pips embroidered on the collar with black bottoms. If he wasn’t a ridiculous nerd already, he paired them with unicorn slippers.

            “Ahoy there, Captain.”

            “Please,” Lyall scoffed, dramatically collapsing into an arm chair. “This is command gold. Call me Lt. Commander.”

            “Like Data?”

            He grinned broadly at her, proud she understood the reference. “Exactly.”

            “Don’t get too excited.” She closed the file she was working on and put it on top of her ‘finished’ pile. “My twin brother Joe loved that show growing up. Used to make me watch it with him.”

            “Nice brother.”

            “Yeah,” she looked away from him and started on a different case. “He was.”

            “Well this got awkward…” Lyall blew out a sigh and tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair. It was silent between them save his finger tapping. Annoyed, Tessa looked up.

            “Is there something you came in here for?” She asked.

            “Not really,” he shook his head. “Figured I’d come in to check on you before I hit the sack. When you heading home?”

            “When I’m finished. Anything more on the subway robberies?”

            “Uh, yeah. The file’s in my room.” Lyall got up quickly and left. He was gone no more than a minute and returned with both the file and a hot pocket. He handed the file to Tessa. “Your brother interviewed Lee Cranston’s cousin.”

            A picture of a beautiful African-American girl was the first thing she saw. “This her?”

            “Yeah. Denise Cranston. She says the neighborhood is scared of Handsome and his crew. Don’t want to talk out against him, don’t want to ride the subways because they don’t know where he’ll show up next.”

            “That’s pretty much what Chief Sheppard said. Did Danny get anything else out of her?”

            “No. She took his card and left.”

            “You have the ballistics report.” She turned to page and skimmed the report. Lyall gave her the highlights.

            “The medical examiner pulled a .38 slug out of Lee Cranston. Handsome carried a .09.”

            “So there’s a second gun?” She looked up at him. “Could Lee have had a gun and shot himself as he was pulling it out?”

            “Would you buy that?” Lyall asked skeptically. “Lee Cranston shoots himself and no one sees?”

            “You have to remember, witnesses were lying face down on the floor getting roughed up and robbed. It’s their instinct to not make eye contact.”

            “Theory two – one of the witnesses shot him.”

            “What makes you say that?”

            “Oh, just the eyewitness testimony of a young woman about to have been raped. Handsome ordered one of his guys, the Spanish one, to rape her. He and two others got into. That’s when she said the man sitting next to her pulled out a gun shot Cranston.”

            “Could she identify him?”

            “She pointed him out of Handsome’s home video.” Lyall flipped a couple pages for her until he got to the photo of their ‘suspect’. He looked like a blue collar, African-American man riding the subway home after a long day’s work. He was even absorbed in the newspaper.

            “Where did he get on?”

            “42nd Street. Same as the witness.”

            “So the city’s got a good Samaritan shooter.” Tessa drummed her fingers on her desk. “Find him.”

            “What are you thinking?”

            “I’m thinking I owe Kelly Davidson a favor.” She smiled at Lyall mischievously. “Find him. Send him to Kelly.”

            “That all?”

            “For tonight, yes. Thank you, Lyall.”

            “Anytime.” Lyall kissed her cheek. “Night, Tess.”

            “Night, kid.” She smiled at him. As he was walking back to his office apartment, she pulled out her phone and sent out a heads up message to Kelly….with a few conditions of her own.

**TRIAL - DAY TWO**

**O’ROURKE PRIVATE ESTATE**

**MASTER BEDROOM**

Catherine O’Rourke was sitting behind her desk in the corner of their bedroom, ignoring her speech to affectionately admiring her husband still asleep in bed. He was lying face down in the pillows, arms spread out, one leg hanging out of the covers and nearly off the edge of the bed. It wasn’t often that she got to see him like this – asleep or at peace. He would either be at work or leaving or work by the time she woke up.

Perhaps sensing someone watching him, Michael lazily stirred. He lifted his head slowly and looked around until he saw something. He blinked the weariness out of his eyes and saw that it was his wife.

She looked beautiful. The curtains were pulled back slightly, the sun illuminating her, giving her a soft angelic glow. Her hair was pinned up and she was wearing her one of her ‘charity’ outfits. If he remembered correctly, it was her ‘homeless’ attire – white and black blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt to her knees, black heels, minimal jewelry.  

Yet Michael didn’t understand….as remarkable as she looked, she _never_ got up before him. That meant -

“What's happening?” Michael mumbled half-way into the pillow.

“Morning, honey.” Catherine smiled.

Michael sat bolt upright in bed. There was a sense of urgency in his voice. “What's happening?”

“I called Victoria and I canceled your morning schedule.”

Before she could finish, Michael dove across the bed to the nightstand to check the time. It was well into the morning. He threw back the covers, grumbling, “Oh, for the love of-”

“You haven't been sleeping.” She called after him as he jogged to the closet. She could hear him throw open the doors and rifle through the clothing. “You paced until 4:00 A.M. I wanted you to get some sleep.”

“I had a video conference on hunger in the developing world.” He shouted back at her. “Mandela got out of bed! _Mandela_ was waiting for me!”

“People die if they don't get enough sleep-”

Michael came back into the room carrying an already prepared suit. He laid it on the bed as he stripped. “The Commandant of the Marine Corps and I had a meeting; I was sitting with economic advisors.”

“You needed _one_ chance to sleep in.”

Michael turned on her, shouting rather loudly, “I do not sleep in!”

Catherine nearly jumped. Never, in their many years of marriage has he yelled at her like that. Her eyebrows knitted together. “Why aren't you sleeping?”

“Cat...” Michael whispered. He turned away from her, he couldn’t look at her.

She looked away as well. After a moment of listening to him dress, she got up and gingerly walked to him. His back was turned to her so she laid a hand on his back. He stiffened.

“I just want you to have what you need. You know that.” She leaned in and kissed his neck, lingering there for a moment. Michael reached back and placed his hand over hers. He squeezed to reassure her.

“I'm doing a tour of D.C. homeless shelters this afternoon.” She said, pulling away and walking back to her desk. “I have to give a speech.” She gathered her purse and coat and walked backwards to the door. She smiled and blew him a kiss. “Wish me luck.”  

**MANHATTAN COURTHOUSE**

**VENDOR**

            When Jamie told her that he’d buy her breakfast, she didn’t think it would be bad coffee and a bagel from a street cart.

            “Hey,” Jamie shrugged sheepishly. “Rookie salary.”

            “Right,” she nudged his shoulder.

            “I’ve got Grand Jury in twenty minutes. Didn’t want to stray too far from the Court House.”

            “So,” she sipped her coffee and slightly winced. “How are you liking the ‘light’ side?”

            “As opposed to the ‘dark’ side?” He chuckled. “I didn’t think we were on opposite side?”

            “Just wait until someone you collar is a client of mine. It’ll happen.”

            “You’d do that to me? Your own brother?” He feigned shock and horror, clutching his heart.

            “Just ask Danny.” She smiled. “Any good war stories?”

            “Renzulli says I can’t tell war stories until my second partner.” Jamie paused. “Saw my first dead body the other night.”

            “Subway robbery kid?” She said casually. She didn’t need anyone else in her family know she was covertly stalking the case.

            Jamie nodded. “And, of course, Danny had to be the one to show it to me. He found it, in fact.”

            “And if you were twelve he’d have made you kiss it.” Jamie smiled at, but it seemed a little off. In fact, he’s seemed off all morning since he called her. She stopped walking. “Hey, are you okay?”

            “Yeah. Why?”

            “Because everything’s not okay. Problems with Sydney?”

            Tessa knew she wasn’t the one to give advice about love lives and engagements, have two failed ones herself, but she could at least spot the warning signs.

            “It’s an adjustment. We’re….adjusting.” He swirled his coffee. “I threw he a big curveball. Get engaged to a lawyer, end up marrying a cop.”

            “Despite what the priest says, marriage isn’t a contract, it’s an ongoing negotiation. At least that’s what Erin said….but what do either of us know, right?”

            “Look, John had everyone fooled. So did Michael. Well, except for maybe Dad…and Danny.”

            “Don’t forget Grandpa.”

            Jamie laughed. “Okay, so maybe they had me fooled.” He paused, something sparking him. He pointed at her. “Except Richard…I don’t know what went wrong between the two of you there but we all liked Richard. Now he was a good guy.”

            “Yeah, he was.” She smiled at him, but left it at that.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

Tessa was not in the best of moods as she came into work today. On her drive into the office she had spilled coffee all over herself when she slammed on her brakes to avoid slamming into the idiot in front of her. She grumbled false greetings as she passed everyone and headed straight into her office to change.

She threw her purse and briefcase on her desk as she kicked off her heels and stripped off her jacket. The minor miracle was that her jacket was untouched by the coffee. She hung it up on the coat rack by the door.

She was unbuttoning her no longer white blouse when Lyall burst through the door.

            “Lyall!” Tessa yelled. She was completely exposed to him – bare stomach and pink bra.

            “You might want to see this,” he ignored her and headed straight for her TV. He flipped it to the local news. He glanced sideways at her out of the corner of his eye. “That’ll be hard to get out.”

            “Tell me about it,” Tessa sighed angrily. “Now what-”

            “Shh,” he held up his hand.

            “ _This just in_ ,” Channel 10 news broke with the bold headline ‘BREAKING NEWS’. _“Twenty minutes ago, at the 65 th Precinct, Oliver Young, known only to the police as ‘The Subway Samaritan’, surrendered himself to Kelly Davidson.”_

While the reporter was speaking, camera footage showed two channel 10 news vans rolling up and parking outside of the police prescient. The heading underneath boldly read – Subway Samaritan Comes Forward. The van doors open and channel 10 reporter Kelly Davidson, alongside the Oliver Young, step out.

_“You’ll hear Kelly’s account and an exclusive interview with the Samaritan here.”_

Lyall shut off the TV and grinned broadly at her. She smiled back, patting his cheek. “Good job.”

“Your brother is on his way to the six-five now.”

“I talked with Kelly last night. If she holds up her end, Mr. Young will contact us in the event he needs us...or if Kelly thinks he needs us. I’m having her keep an eye on him for me. Hand me a bag.”

She stripped out of her spoiled blouse and dumped it into the plastic bag Lyall held out for her. She did the same with her trousers.

“Nice to know your underwear matches.” Lyall teased her. She raised her eyebrow, unamused. “Right. Sorry.”

Tessa had no problem changing in front of Lyall. Fact is, they’ve all changed in front of each other more times than they could count. Modesty is an afterthought by now.

“I’ll get these to the dry cleaner,” Lyall said as he tied up the plastic bag.

            “Thank you.” She went to her closet in the back of her office as he left. She kept spare outfits on hand in case of emergencies. Good thing, too. She was running late as is. She was showing Cynthia her apartment today.

She quickly put on a cream blouse and tucked it into a red skater skirt that drifted to her knees. She slipped into flats that matched her blouse.

The alarm she set on her phone went off. She needed to leave the office now or else get caught up in horrendous downtown traffic.

As she threw open her office door, primed to leave, she saw Gregory Williams standing there with his fist held as if the knock on her door.

“We have a meeting...” He stuttered.

“No, we don't.” Tessa lightly pushed his shoulder to indicate he needed to move. He did so with a confused look on his face.

“You called me.” He shouted at her as she strode past him towards the lobby. “Your guy said that you wanted to talk to me about-”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I don't know. I imagine so you can try to kill my story about Cynthia Baxter, which there is no way in hell I am gonna let you do.”

“I don't have to kill your story, Gregory.” Tessa stopped with her hand on the front door of the lobby. She turned to him with a cordial smile. “You're going to kill it yourself. As soon as you publish even anything remotely interesting about my client, all of the _real_ reporters at your paper are going to snatch it right out of your _cub_ reporter hands.”

She held out her purse for Gregory to hold. As she put on her coat, she sarcastically added for emphasis, “By the way, great piece yesterday about how the cherry blossoms are _so_ late to bloom this year. I do hope they come soon.”

She took back her purse. “This is how this works. You're gonna leave Cynthia alone and keep her name out of your paper for the next 72 hours.” Gregory was about to say something, but Tessa held up her finger. “You do that, and I will give you some background on her. And if you're lucky, a quote.”

Tessa opened the door and walked out to an open elevator. Gregory walked out after her.

“That sounds fair. Okay.” As the iron gates of the old elevator closed, Gregory had to shout, “Good meeting.”

“There was no meeting,” Tessa shouted back.

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

Tessa’s building was practically multiple brownstones stacked on top of each other and given a modern twist complete with a doorman and elevator. Brown brick stoop led to the black front door where the first doorman waited. The second doorman waited in the small tiled foyer. The first floor was more of a ‘lobby’ and office area. On the back wall ahead of the foyer doors was an elevator.

There were ten floors and two residents per floor, each with their own brownstone apartment layout. Tessa lived on the fourth floor, apartment B. Her ‘neighbor’ was Mrs. Jenkins in 4A, an elderly widower who loved to gossip over lemon cakes and tea.

Donna and Cynthia were waiting outside Tessa’s apartment door with a two duffle bags of Cynthia’s things. It seems they hadn’t been waiting long since Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t talking with them, trying to persuade them to come back with her for lemon cakes and tea.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tessa apologized as she fished out her keys from her purse.

“You’re not that late,” Donna smirked.

“You bring a lot of clients to your home?” Cynthia asked as Tessa led the way in.

The foyer was small, but welcoming. Tessa hung up her purse and jacket on the standing coat rack before walking father in. To the left was a small guest bathroom and to the right was a window into the kitchen.

“Just the ones that need to be kept out of the public eye.”

“So, what happens next?”

“Next I give you a tour.” Tessa knew what she meant, but she deflected and instead showed her around. If she was going to be staying here a while, she might as well get comfortable.

The hallway to the left of the foyer led to the bedrooms – two guest and one master bedroom. Cynthia chose the bedroom she wanted to stay in and deposited her bags there on the bed before continuing the tour.

The hallway to the right of the foyer was the open dining and living room. The kitchen was tucked back by the front door, partially separated from the dining room by the kitchen bar. Tessa stood in the middle of the living room and let Cynthia take it all in.

The wall the living room and dining room shared was exposed brick, the other walls were a warm cream color accented by rustic metal overhead lights. Large arched windows with the same cream color drapes accented the brick wall. The floors were all hardwood except in the two guest bedrooms.

The main color for the living and dining room were white with a hint of other colors that only accented. The couch and two wing chairs in the living room were white, but the coffee table and large chest that stored all the media were mahogany, the throw pillows were a mix of lavender, and the afghan on the back of the couch was a beautiful maroon. A black piano was tucked into the corner by the window. The dining room table was a dark wood with matching chairs surrounding it, yet the cushions were white. The only color there was the vase of lavender flowers in the center. The kitchen was as equally white – the counters and cupboards, the island bar. The appliances, however, were black or red; the only open wall was painted chalkboard. Currently, Tessa had her shopping list written out.

Cynthia wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. She opted for, “My entire apartment could fit in these two rooms. Tessa scoffed with a small smirk. She gestured for Cynthia to have a seat on the couch. Tessa sat in on the of arm chairs.

“Donna and I have to get back to work soon, you’ll have the place to yourself so you can get adjusted. Donna’s writing down the alarm codes for you. Be sure to turn it on after we leave.” Tessa paused. “But before I go, we talk about things.”

“Okay,” Cynthia sighed, resigned.

“Not bad things.” Tessa shook her head reassuringly. “Just things that will help me. For instance, I need to know if you have any proof of what went on with you and Mr. O’Rourke.”

“Why do you need that?”

“Because if it ever came down to his word against yours, we'll need proof of what happened, because even though I believe you, others won't. He’s a powerful man with even more powerful friends; there is no way to come out on top without proof.”

“I have something, yeah.” Cynthia looked away to the window for a moment, biting her bottom lip and mentally debating on what to say next. Tessa could see the conflict in her eyes when she turned back. “I'm not ready to tell you what it is.”

“Cynthia” Tessa coaxed.

“My terms. You said we could do this on my terms. I'm not telling you until I'm ready.”

“Okay.” Tessa nodded slowly. “Hopefully, it won't come to that. Hopefully, we'll figure this out.” She was beginning to like Cynthia, her developing courage and strength. Just as it was wise of her to keep her cards close to her chest, it was also stupid. Very rarely did it ever get extremely ugly, but with Michael she needed to know absolutely everything. “Which brings me to the second thing I need. What's the end game?”

“The end game?”

“A question I ask every client what they want. What's your best outcome? Do you want money? Do you want to stay in New York? Do you want your job back? You have options.”

After a beat, Cynthia squared her shoulders. “I want to see him.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to see Michael O’Rourke. I want _one_ meeting with him…alone…face-to-face.”    

**RESTAURANT**

Christopher Neilson and David Howser were laughing over old times over lunch, building the company up and their most memorable hostile takeovers.

“No.” Chris laughed. He lifted his napkin out of his lap to wipe his face. “No, it was Des Moines. We were in Des Moines negotiating assets, and the court moderator raises the question.”

“Mm-hmm.” David nodded enthusiastically, grinning with a mouthful of food.

“And Michael just looked–“ Chris stopped his story short when he spotted someone approaching them. “Theresa.”

Both of them got up as she reached their table. “Oh, please.” She waved at them and they sat back down, Chris dragged a chair over from the empty table beside them. As she sat, she asked, “Dave, can you give us a minute?”

“Um,” He knitted his eyebrows humorously and twirled his fork in his food. “I'm, uh, eating shrimp scampi, so, no.”

“Dave.” Tess batted her eyes.

“Tess, I'm eating, and he's paying. Do you know how _rare_ that is?” Chris snorted as he sipped his lemon water. “Look, you used to be the work wife, but word on the street is, your spots open, so you really think I'm leaving this table?”

“Dave, leave the table.”

To make the suggestion an order, Chris repeated it. “Dave, leave the table.”

Dave huffed and mock glared at Tessa. He kissed her cheek as he left the table. Tessa slid his plate to her and picked up where he left off.

“Work wife. I suppose that's true.” He smirked at her. “You want to tell Gabe or should I. It’d be the honorable thing.”

“ _Was_ true.” She popped a shrimp in her mouth. “Gabe’s my work wife now. Traded you in for a younger man. Ain’t life a bitch?”

The shared a laugh for a moment. Chris put his arm on the back of Tessa’s chair, the humor slowing fading from his eyes. He lowered his voice and softened his eyes.

“He's not sleeping.”

“Not my problem,” Tessa shook her head.

He stared at her a moment before nodding slowly. His humor returned. “So…what does my _ex_ -work wife want? Can’t just be to crash a lunch date with the _new_ wife.”

“Cynthia Baxter wants a sit-down. Fifteen minutes with him.”

Chris sighed. “You and I both know-”

“And then she goes away,” Tessa added. “For good. This is legit, Christopher. I wouldn’t be bringing it to you if it wasn’t.”

“And then this goes away?” Chris asked slowly.

“Then you'll buy scampi _only_ for me.” Cheekily, she popped another shrimp in her mouth. Chris took his hand off the back of her chair and laid it fondly on her cheek.

“I miss you.”

She kissed the palm of his hand. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“He's not sleeping.”

Tessa pulled away and stood. “Christopher, neither am I.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

While Tessa and Donna sat down with Travis in her office, Gabriel was sitting at the conference room table listening to Mr. Cole’s defense presentation as Lyall hung up hospital intake photos of a blonde, battered woman.

“The woman's name is Helen Fisher. She went home with Travis _willingly_. Claims that things got out of hand, he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Gabriel used his laser-pointer pen to circle the marks on Helen’s neck. “How are you explaining the bruises?”

“Self-inflicted. After the fact. Travis is innocent.”

“Aren't they all?” Lyall raised a skeptical eyebrow.  

“Hell, no.” Mr. Cole scoffed. “But Travis is. I have tried millions of these cases. It's a classic he said, she said.”

Tessa was making the same comment in her office. She stood with hands on hips in front of Travis as he lounged lazily on her sofa.

“It’s all a matter of perception. These cases always are. And you're…how do I say this?” She turned to Donna.

Donna stood up from behind Tessa’s desk and walked around it. “You're being perceived by the public, and more importantly, by the jury, as an entitled rich boy who thinks he can get away with anything.”

Travis leaned forward to make a comment, but Tessa shut him down. “To change that, you play by my rules. Donna's your babysitter. You do not drink. You don't go out. And no more blondes.”

Travis held back a cheeky smile. “Whatever you say, Tess.”  


	6. Chapter 6

**TRIAL - DAY THREE**

**OUTSIDE SAMUEL LYNCH’S APARTMENT**

**MORNING**

Tessa casually leaned back against her car with a cup of coffee and a small bag of dog treats in her hands as she waited for Sam. If she knew him, and she did, he was out walking his white schnauzer, Casper, around the block. She glanced down at the watch. He’d becoming around in the corner any second….

She looked up and smiled. Sam was wearing a faded Metallica t-shirt, jeans, and sandals. Casper’s leash in one hand, he was looking down at his cell phone in the other. She stepped in his path.

“You're obsessed.” Sam said when Casper jerked on his leash to greet Tessa. He pocketed his phone. “Do I need a restraining order?”

“A restraining order?” Tessa looked mildly offended as she extended him his drink. “For a friend who brings you free coffee and dog treats?”

Even as he spoke, he accepted his coffee and treats. “We occasionally sleep together and my dog likes you more than me, but we're not friends and none of these are free.”

Tessa crouched down and Casper went mad. He was all over her, trying to get to her face and cover it with kisses. Tessa was laughing. After a minute, he calmed down enough for Tessa to hug him to her while she scratched his ears. His back leg mimicked her scratching. Sam was getting annoyed.

“What do you want?”

“Alexis Jones,” She kissed the top of Casper’s head and stood back up. “She's prosecuting the Harding rape case. You’ve gone up against her. Any-”

“Dirt? Dirt on Alexis Jones, my friend? Your sister’s colleague? That Alexis Jones?”

Tessa rolled her eyes and used Sam’s words against him. “Oh, please, you occasionally sleep with her. That doesn’t make her your friend.”

“Doesn’t mean I want you to threaten or intimidate her.”

Tessa raised an eyebrow. “Same go for me if someone wanted information?”

Sam deflected after a beat. “If you want dirt, stalk your big sister.”

She made a pouty face. “You're so touchy pre-coffee.”

“Beat it,” He moved around her, Casper whining, and threw over his shoulder with a smile, “ _stalker_.”

“That's no way to treat a friend.”

He raised his coffee cup in the air but didn’t turn around. “We're not friends.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Tessa stood behind her chair, gripping the back in frustration. Lyall and Gabriel had just finished putting up all their evidence on the window when she walked in demanding an update.

“No luck with the U.S. attorney and I won’t give my sister the satisfaction of groveling to her. I have got _nothing_ on the prosecution. Where's the jury?”

Gabriel pointed to a segregated section on the window with the jury’s photos on the wall. Ten of them had red tape on them. He gestured to those. “These ten are voting guilty.”

“The other two?”

“Two as potential non-guilty votes.” Beside the red-taped photos were the two blue-taped photos. “Juror 4 is a freelance graphic designer, bartender, voted for Nader.”

“He's independent, contrarian.” Tessa nodded her head approvingly. “Good.”

“And juror 6. N.R.A. member, retired marine, winces every time the prosecution speaks.”

“So he's an Alpha male with a grudge against the female prosecutor. Great. Hate to say it but I love it. Lyall, what'd you get?”  

“Followed number 6 to the dry cleaners. His wife kept asking him how the case was going. Said he’d tell her after he’s in jail. Number 4 was telling his buddy at the laundry mat the Travis was a ‘total date raper’.” Lyall cut two pieces of red tape from the roll and hung them underneath the blue pieces. “Jury's set to hang him high.”

Gabriel dropped some papers heavily on the table before sitting down. “Day three of trial, and we've lost them already.”

“Lyall, what do we have on Helen?”

“I went to her work, a nonprofit children’s organization. Helen and a female co-worker had a longstanding weekly drinks date at Tony’s on Thursdays. Helen would have one, maybe two drinks. She never wanted to be hungover around the kids. Plus, working for a nonprofit that’s all she could afford. And if you didn’t think it could get worse,” Lyall handed Tessa a folder filled photos of Helen. “Helen's a Saint. Special ED advocate. Head of the American University Alumni Club for N.Y.”

“A saint is what you have to be to win a he said, she said case without coming out looking like a regretful slut who was asking for it.” Gabriel conceded.

“You're killing me.” Tessa groaned. “We’ve been through the bad and the ugly, but what's the good?”

“The good is she's broke. I checked her credit reports.” Lyall handed Tessa and Gabriel a copy. “She's over 250 grand between student loans and credit cards. Financially, the girl's drowning.”    

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

Understandably, Sandra was not taking the new discovery very well. When Tessa strongly suggested the she settle, she became hostile. She shot up from the couch and began pacing the room.

“Theresa, that's out of the question!”

“Helen is an airtight witness. We need to stop her from cooperating with the prosecution any further, and we've already lost the jury.”

“He is _innocent_. The evidence is paper-thin!”

Tessa lowered her voice. “Photographs of bruises on a pretty girl prove to be very effective. In a case like this, perception is _more important_ than evidence. The truth doesn't matter.” She paused for affect, hoping that she was getting to Sandra. “He looks guilty. He is guilty.”

“We'll win on appeal,” she said defiantly.

“That'll take two years! Minimum. And in the meantime, Travis will be in prison.” Sandra sighed, tilting her head back. “We've got an opportunity here. The girl needs money. You have a lot of money. You only have _one_ son. _Settle_.”

After a moment, Sandra nodded, whispering, “Do whatever you have to do.”  

**KITCHEN**

           While Sandra was on the phone with her banker, preparing the settlement installations, Gabriel was getting the car while Tessa waited in the kitchen for word from Sandra. Once she got confirmation, she’d head out.

            She had just gotten off the phone with Hellen’s attorney, requesting a settlement meeting at the courthouse, when Lyall approached her.

            “Finally got the Samaritan’s confession.” He handed Tessa a tablet and earphones. On the screen was a surveillance video file from the 65th police station. Oliver Young, his lawyer, Danny, and his partner were starring.

            Tessa plugged an earphone and pressed play.

            _“I was working in Queens, a restaurant – an afterhours, off-the-books job. I’ve been held up twice before on my way home. I can’t afford to lose the cash I’ve been making.”_

            _“The gun was for protection.”_ The female sitting beside Danny stated. She was his new partner and probably wouldn’t last much longer.

            _“Yeah.”_

_“Where’d you get it?”_

            Oliver glanced at his red-haired lawyer. She silently shook her head. _“I’d rather not say.”_

            _“Come on, Oliver,”_ Danny sat up in his chair. _“You got to give us something half of New York already heard from Kelly Davidson.”_

            Oliver’s lawyer stepped in. _“Mr. Young is talking to you voluntarily and against the advice of counsel. I recommend you not press him.”_

            _“I’m not pressin’ him, counselor.”_ Danny bit back.

_“You were on the train…”_ Danny’s partner steered the conversation back to the matter at hand.

_“I wasn’t going to do anything.”_ Oliver made that clear. _“That one guy had a gun, and I knew things were going to get bad. They started getting mean, hurting people, laughing about it, and they were serious about hurting that girl.”_

_“That’s when you shot him.”_ The partner stated.

_“Someone had to stop it. And then everyone started running and I….”_ Oliver paused, shaking his head. _“I’ve got a robbery arrest from when I was 18, so I know what it means that I was carrying a gun. But I haven’t done a wrong thing since that arrest. I’ve got a life, a family. And then I heard that boy I shot died…”_

Oliver trailed off, remorseful, and his lawyer took that pause to step in. _“Oliver, I’m going to tell you one more time: stop.”_

_“I wasn’t…I was already thinking about turning myself in, and then I saw that picture in the paper. My wife saw it too. I didn’t want you people kicking in my front door, dragging me away in front of my son.”_

_“So you called the news.”_

_“No,”_ Oliver shook his head. _“That’s just the thing; I didn’t have to. Not right away, at least. I got a phone call. The man on the phone told me to call Ms. Davidson; said she’d be expecting my call. She seems good on TV so I was okay with it. That way I get my side of the story out before I talked to you.”_

_“Someone called you?”_ Danny exchanged a look with his partner. _“Who called you, Mr. Young?”_

_“I-I don’t know.”_ He glanced sideways at his lawyer. _“He didn’t say much just that I should surrender myself. That I should get my story out to the public and who better to do that than Kelly Davidson.”_

_“This person found you before we did, Mr. Young.”_ Danny’s partner said.

Before she could say anymore, the lawyer snidely cut across, _“Perhaps the tax payers should be paying this person rather than you. Seems to be doing a better job.”_

Lyall sniggered. He pointed at the tablet. “That’s my favorite part.”

Danny sighed angrily. _“Mr. Young, why did you think we wouldn’t listen to your side of the story?”_

_“Isn’t it obvious?”_

_“I guess it was obvious to your anonymous caller.”_

            The video feed cut off. Lyall looked to her for approval. Tessa smiled.

            “Good work. Will they be able to trace your hack?”

            “Not if they were looking for it.”

            “Go back and cover up your tracks. They may or may not look for it, but with Mr. Young’s ‘mysterious caller’ we can’t be too careful.”

            Lyall turned and went into his office. Tessa’s phone beeped with a message from Gabriel that the car was ready. It was time to put this rape claim to bed.

**COURTHOUSE**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

“That's $8 million in three installments.” Tessa handed over the signed agreement to Helen’s attorney.

“I would like it clearly understood that the attorney representing Mr. Harding was totally unaware.” Mr. Cole said angrily from where he stood behind Tessa and Gabriel.

“The gag order and confidentiality clause are standard.” Gabriel handed over the paperwork. “As your attorney has hopefully explained, it means you stop cooperating as a witness.”

“I am not here.” Mr. Cole kept muttering. “I was in the building on another case. I just-”

Gabriel continued as if he were not interrupted. “Which will force the prosecution to drop the case.”

“They've offered to throw in an extra $500,000 to the special education charity of your choice if we leave here with an agreement.” Tessa added.

“Ten.” Helen’s lawyer finally spoke up.

“Ten?” Mr. Cole squeaked. “That is preposterous! You must-” Tessa turned and shot him a cold glare. “I-I'm sorry. Ignore me. I'm not here.”

“Ten. Up front, one payment.”

“I can sell 9.” Tessa definitively put. “No more.”

“Done,” Helen’s lawyer nodded.

Just as her lawyer agreed, Helen spoke up for the first time since their meeting. “No.”

Her lawyer leaned over to her. “Helen, we're not going to get a better offer-”

“I said no.” She cut him with a cold stare.

“You're angry, Helen. I understand that.” Tessa sympathized with her. “But the quickest way to put this behind you is to settle this _now_ or you're looking at years of appeals, years of unfinished anger-”

Helen cut across her as well. “How much would you take, Ms. Reagan?”

“I-I'm sorry?”

“If you were me, how much would it take you to be able to forget?” Helen reworded her question. “To forget you'd been strangled, had your _clothes_ ripped off, had some guy pin you down while he forced his fist inside your mouth so hard, you could taste your own blood? How much would it take you to be able to forget all that? To be able to even _think_ of having sex with somebody again?” Her bottom lip quivered and her voice shook. She was no longer trying to hold back the tears. “To wake up every morning and _not_ want to kill yourself when you realize it wasn't just a dream, it actually happened? How much would it take you to forget all that? Ten million? Twenty? How much would _you_ be worth?”

Tessa never looked away from Helen. She wouldn’t disrespect her like that, not after this…turn of events. She was beginning to doubt the case – doubt Travis’ innocence, doubt her trust, but more importantly doubt her gut. It was telling her to trust two very different people, both claiming to be the victim. Now, it was up to her to find the truth.

She pocketed her pen and closed her folder. She spoke to Gabriel, yet held Helen’s pained gaze. “Let's go.”

As they left, she could hear Helen brake down behind them.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**“THE IVORY TOWER”**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

Michael’s company had recently donated over a million dollars to the Wounded Warriors Project – a foundation to “honor and empower” wounded servicemen and women by helping them readjust into society. This was one of the more honorable things Michael’s company makes it a point to get involved in.

For his donation, the local chapter of WWP gathered in Michael’s office to accept the ‘ceremonial’ oversized check and to get PR photos. The wounded servicemen were wearing their uniforms, ribbons and badges proudly displayed, and stood in a line by Michael’s desk. He went down the line shaking their hands and thanking them for their service. The last man, a Lance Corporal in from the Marine Corps saluted him with his left hand. Michael saluted him back.

“Gentlemen, thank you all,” Michael announced at the end of the event. He nodded to Veronica Gadd, who stood off to the side with Christopher’s PA Margot Creech. Veronica nodded back.

“Gentlemen, if you would follow me please,” Veronica called out with a charming smile. She gestured to the door and led the way.

Margot handed Christopher a file before she, too, left the room. Now it was only Michael and Christopher.

“Did you see that?” Michael asked, slightly dazed. “They had prosthetic hands. That man saluted me with his left hand because his right hand was blown off by an I.E.D. while he was busy keeping _us_ safe.” He walked around his desk to stare out at the cityscape. “ _This country_ …safe.”

“I wish you were a cynic. This would be easier for a cynic.” Christopher laid the file on Michael’s desk after he read over it. He tapped his knuckles on the desk. “Tessa wants a meeting.”

Michael quickly turned around at the mention of Tessa. Michael held up his hand to indicate there was more. “ _One_ sit-down with Cynthia Baxter, and it all goes away. I think…I think it's worth it. We do it casually, discreet, somewhere off the grounds. You hear her out, and then it's _done_. We're free. This is a chance to put Ms. Baxter behind you-”

“Tessa will be there?”

Christopher rapt his knuckles on the desk again. He picked up a different file and turned to leave. “Like I said, your life would be so much easier if you were a cynic.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Gabriel was pacing back and forth beside the conference table, tossing an apple in the air and catching it. “Three days out. If we let this go to jury and we're screwed. And it is going to jury because she won't settle.”

“So we lost?” Lyall was sitting cross legged in a chair with a rubix-cube in his hands. “We're done?”

Tessa turned to him a scoffed. “We're _never_ done. If we lose this round, we prep him for appeal. If we lose that, we prep him for a second appeal, because whatever happens, there's always another move. Whatever happens, we do not give up. It is _my name_ on that door, and I do _not_ give up.”

Tessa walked away from Lyall and his shocked expression before she said something worse besides just yelling at him. She had never raised her voice to him before. She retreated into her office to calm down.

“It's not personal.” A deep, gruff voice spoke up behind them. Lyall spun around in his chair and Gabriel stopped pacing. Tessa’s father was standing in the doorway of the conference room, dressed professionally in a dark blue suit and an American flag pinned to his lapel, tan overcoat draped over his arm.

“Tessa,” He gestured to her office door as he walked towards it. “She really doesn't like the word ‘lose’.”

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

            Tessa was standing in front of her bar cart, pouring herself a glass of wine, when Frank came in. Tessa, thinking it was Gabriel coming to tell her to apologize to Lyall, growled,

            “Not now!”

            “I could say the same to you,” Frank said. Tessa jumped at hearing his voce, nearly sloshing her wine out of her glass. She turned and Frank pointed at her glass. “A bit early in the day, don’t you think?”

            “It’s never too early.” She sighed.

            “Kelly Davidson; that was a nice touch.”

            The glass rim hovered over her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Frank nodded. He draped his trench coat over the back of an arm chair and sat down on the couch. “I talked with Ms. Davidson yesterday.”

            “How’d that meeting go?” Tessa asked, letting her implication of something ‘more’ hang between them.

            “She said that you gave her the tip about Mr. Young, the Subway Samaritan.”

            “And if I had given her the tip….”

            “Theresa,” Frank sighed. “Stay out of this. He is not your client, the city is not your client-”

            “I’m actually on retainer for the Mayor’s office,” she muttered under her breath as she sipped her wine.

            “And the mayor did not call you in. This is a police matter, Theresa. Let your brother handle it. It’s bad enough you sent Mr. Young to Ms. Davidson before your brother. You just helped solidify the African-American community’s mistrust of law enforcement.”

            “I did no such thing.” Tessa pointed out vehemently. She sat down opposite of her father. “Mr. Young, a black man with a criminal record from his youth was carrying a weapon illegally on his way home from an illegal job. The police do not have an excellent track record when all those facts are rolled into one. Mr. Young stopped a crime by committing one. I believe his story needed to be heard before he was to be judged.”

            “And in the process, you’ve told every African-American that it is better to go to the media than the police.” Frank reiterated again.

            “Well, between the confession and the video, Danny sure as hell has a case. He’ll do time for doing the right thing. He took a stance while everyone else sat idly by. If this were to happen to anyone else, minority of not, I sure as hell hope their story gets out there, too, before a cop or a prosecutor railroads them.”

            “You’re not giving your siblings enough credit, Theresa.”

            Tessa leaned back in her arm chair. She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m trying to do the right thing, Dad. So much has gone wrong that I…I feel helpless.”

            “And while helping Oliver Young is noble, have a little faith in your family to do their jobs.” Frank stood up and kissed his daughter’s forehead. “I’ve got to get back.”

            “Okay, dad.” She stood up as he retrieved his coat. “Is Danny coming down on Handsome?”

            “I have no doubt.” Frank walked to the door. He was half-way out when Tessa asked,

            “Dad?” Frank turned. “Oliver Young is going to need a lawyer when this comes to trial.”

            “Then it’s a good thing he has a great one in his corner already.”

**HARDING RESIDENCE**

**TRAVIS’ BEDROOM**

“It feels kinda cheap.” Travis complained.

He was standing in front of a full length mirror, turning this way and that to get a better look at himself. He wasn’t happy with what he saw. He didn’t know why Donna brought him a suit when he had dozens already. Dozens that fit him perfectly.

“It is cheap.” Donna smiled at him in the mirror. She dusted his shoulder. “Juries have a natural bias against the exceedingly rich.”

“Well, I have a natural bias against rayon.” Travis chuckled. “But hey, if it'll help me look as innocent as I am, I love it.” He turned around to face Donna as she picked out ties from the end table. “Hey…be straight with me. What's the point of all this? I mean, if she won't settle, I'm going to prison, aren't I?”

Donna didn’t know what to say. Tessa was the one with the powerful words; she just dug up dirt and fetched coffee. She offered him a reassuring smile and dramatically swept the yellow tie off the table.

“No more yellow ties.” She held a blue tie for him. “Blue. You can trust a man in blue.”

“But maybe we didn't go high enough.” Travis was suggesting as he turned around to face the mirror again. “Maybe we should try again. I mean, they always take the money in the end.”

Luckily for Travis, Donna had her back turned collecting the ties from the table when he spoke. Her back went ram-rod straight and she froze. Trying not to make a scene, she quietly excused herself from the room to cell Tessa.    

**TESSA APARTMENT**

Tessa brought take-out back with her for lunch. When she opened the door, she could hear Cynthia loudly talking with someone.

“Okay, I can't talk.” Concerned, Tessa walked faster towards Cynthia’s voice – the kitchen. “Not now! You have to stop calling me.”

Tessa walked in as soon as Cynthia hung up. “Who are you talking to?

“That reporter from the ‘Sun’. He keeps calling me,” Cynthia said innocently enough.

“Look, I'm not gonna take your phone away,” Tessa put the take-out on the kitchen counter, “but I cannot _stress_ the importance that you _only_ take calls from your parents and my staff. You _cannot_ answer your phone, not even to tell someone to go away.”

Cynthia nodded. She pointed to the bag. “Kung-Pow?”

Tessa’s phone began to ring. She nodded and left the room. It was Donna.

“Gregory Williams called Cynthia,” Tessa led in as soon as the call connected. “Damn it. He knows something. He's chomping at the bit. He must _have_ something-”

“ _He likes me_.” Donna cut in.

Tessa stopped pacing in the foyer. “What?”

“ _The reporter. I think he likes me_.”

“Good. Use it, find out what he knows.” Tessa sighed, momentarily relieved. “You called me. What do you need?”

_“I want permission to have Lyall look into Travis' finances.”_

“What are you thinking?”

_“He said something about settlements, how ‘they always take the money’. I think we should know if he's speaking from experience.”_

“Be careful,” she paused on moment, “on both counts, Donna.”  

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Gabriel, Tessa, and Lyall sat around the conference table as Donna presented her findings.

“In 2008, he made three payments of $200,000 to a woman in Arlington.” She handed Travis’ financial statement to Tessa. “Her name's Rachel Kline. Twenty-three year old waitress at Darcy's in Georgetown.”

“Let's track her down, find out what the money was for.”

“Can't.” Lyall spoke up. “She's dead.”

“Committed suicide three years ago. Pills.” Donna handed Tessa a copy of the death certificate.

“600 grand is one hell of a tip for your favorite waitress, huh?” Gabriel joked.  

“All the marks of a cover-up here.” Lyall said.

“But covering up what?” Tessa asked. When no one could answer her, she sighed.  

Gabriel leaned forward. “Tess, I know Sandra's your friend, but-”

“No,” Tessa shook her head. “If he raped that girl and paid her off, it makes it a _lot_ more likely he raped Helen, too.” She tapped her manicured fingers on the table, listening to the sounds in the quiet room. “Find out what you can about Ms. Kline.”  

Donna and Gabriel dispersed to get to work on different angles. Lyall stayed behind to hand Tessa a torn piece of paper. She looked down at it, curious. It was an address.

“Detective Reagan is storming Steve Jackson’s, a.k.a. Handsome, safe house tonight.” Lyall patted her shoulder on his way out. “Apparently, seeing Oliver Young on the TV got Lee Cranston’s cousin to come forward with the all the locations of Handsome’s crew.”

Tessa couldn’t help but smile as she looked out at the city, the address crumpled in her hand.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**CHRISTOPHER’S OFFICE**

Christopher was ejecting a CD from his computer when Michael burst through his door. Their moods could not have been different – Michael was happily excited while Christopher was grim-faced and heartbroken.

“Just got word from Washington; it looks like 458 is going to pass from the Senate.” Christopher quickly stood up and angrily closed the door behind Michael. There was an audible BANG as it swung shut. Out the window, Michael could see Margot jump. The smile on his face fell and he grew more serious. “What?”

“I thought we were good, problem solved.” Christopher said as he walked back to his desk. He stuck the CD back into his computer. “But this just came in my mail. My _personal_ mail.”

“What is it?”

Christopher silently held out earphones for Michael to take. “This isn’t something you want overheard.”

Michael put them on and nodded for Christopher to hit play. Sounds of two people making love filled his ears. He would have thought nothing of it, but he recognized the familiar sounds of the man. It was him. He was whispering something inaudible and groaning, yelling and panting with every move. There was the sound of wooden furniture hitting the wall. A woman’s voice imitating his own passionate sounds.

When he had had enough, he slowly removed the earphones and let them fall from his hand. He hung his head, not willing to look up at the man all to knowing of his failures.

“Chris…”

“From that first day when you asked me to run your business, I dreamed a lot of dreams, _big_ dreams. I knew you were going to be powerful, but, I _never_ – _NEVER_ dreamed I'd be listening to a tape of you moaning with an aide.” His voice was low and controlled, emitting enough hostility and betrayal without raising his voice to alert the staff outside. He pointed to his computer. “That's what that is, right, you with your pants down, having _sex_ with Cynthia Baxter?”

“Chris, I-” Michael placed his hands on Christopher’s desk and leaned down, hanging his head further.

“You don't _talk_.” Christopher stood closer, getting into Michael’s face. “ _You_ don't talk anymore. Someone sent this to me. You get that? Cynthia Baxter is blackmailing you, which means that Theresa Reagan is blackmailing you.”

Michael stood up straight to look Christopher in the eye to defend her. “This isn't Tessa. Tessa didn't do this. She _wouldn't_ do this.”

“Michael-”

“Theresa wouldn't do this.”

“I don't want to believe it either, but-”

“Tessa is not behind this. She wanted a meeting. She wanted to put this to bed.”

“You know what happens at that meeting? They _ambush_ you. There were no demands that came with this. Just the tape. The demands come in the meeting when you're face-to-face; when they have you by the _balls_ ; when _they're_ in control. We both know _that's_ how Theresa Reagan works. There isn't _going_ to be a happy ending. Tess isn't coming back.”

Michael shook his head. He sighed. “Okay.

“She's not going to forgive you.”

“Okay.”

“She's going to take a knife and she's going to gut you, and she's going to walk away-”

“I said okay!” Michael yelled.

Christopher had been careful not to raise his voice, but Michael had just blown the lid. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Margot watching them and a couple other workers peer through the window as they walked by. Michael put a hand on his hip and the other in his hair. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He stared out at the city, lost and on the verge of madness.

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

Donna was on the phone with Gabriel as she walked into the office. Gabriel himself was on his way to the lab to get the rape results from Rachel Kline’s case when Donna called to give him an update.

“I just left Rachel's parents' house.”

_“The mother tell you anything?”_

“She wouldn't talk, but she didn't have to. She's a fourth grade teacher, and there's an S-Class in the driveway. Looks like a 2007, maybe a 2008.”

_“That's an $80,000 car that came out the year her daughter was paid off. It must have been Rachel's.”_

“Exactly. You want to know the best part?” She stopped in the hallway with a smile on her face. “There's an American University sticker on it.”

_“Helen went to American.”_

“Gabriel, Tessa’s gonna need you to get-”

_“Already on it.”_ He hung up with Donna was he approached the evidence lab.

**LAB**

A single woman in her late twenties, reasonably attractive in her light green scrubs and white doctor’s coat, looked up skeptically at Gabriel as he walked in.

“You're not a cop.”

“Not even close.” He smiled.

She put down her test tubes. “Usually, all we get down here are cops. Sometimes lawyers, but you're not a lawyer, either.”

“I'm definitely not a cop. Some days I'm a lawyer.” He handed her his business card. He sat down on a metal lab chair. “But today I'm just a single man looking for evidence. An old rape kit from a few years ago - if you even have it. The name Rachel Kline.”

“You flirting with me?” The woman asked with a stone face and a raised eyebrow. Gabriel was going to play it off with a laugh, but she cut him off. “'Cause I test rape kits all day, hundreds of 'em. I’m backlogged so bad, it'll be ten years before some of them even get opened. You know what's in a rape kit, guy who's sometimes a lawyer, but not a cop?” Gabriel stood up from the chair, embarrassment written all over his face. “Swabs from her lips, her cheeks, her thighs, her hair, her cervix, the panties she was wearing when he pulled 'em down, the little bits of _him_ they combed off _her_ body, and the comb they used to do it. So if I can give you something that's gonna get some justice for one these women whose pain and shame is in these bags, just ask me. I'll do it. But if you want anything else, you've come to the wrong place.”

“The rape kit will be fine. Thank you, ma'am.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

Donna paced the length off her desk, starring nervously at her cell phone. It laid still on her desk, yet she watched it as if it were an explosive about to go off. She inhaled deeply before snatching it up. She refused to think about what she was doing, instead she acted. She dialed up Gregory Williams.

“Hey, Gregory. Hi. It's, uh, Donna…Martin from Tessa Reagan and Associates.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight while she rambled quickly. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink with me tomorrow night if you're not busy. If you are, it's completely and totally fine. We could do it another time tomorrow, or next week, or never at all, ever-” Gregory stopped her short. She smiled as he gave her the name of his favorite bar. “Okay. Sure. Bye.”

Donna turned around to see Lyall starring at her over his ramen noodles with abundant judgement. “You're weird.”

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

Tessa was drafting the paperwork for Cynthia’s deal with Michael. If she knew Christopher, and she did, he’ll want everything hard copied and in writing. Speaking of Christopher, Gabriel casually walked into her office and stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

“Cynthia settling in okay?”

Tessa put down her pen. She apologized softly and as wholeheartedly as she could. “I'm sorry we didn't vote.”

“We never vote.” Gabriel shrugged. “Not really.”

“Trust me. We're on the right side of this.”  

“Whose side, Tessa? Michael’s, Cynthia's? You and I both have an enormous conflict of interest in this thing…I don't even think there's a word for how big it is.”

“Enormous would do.” She smiled cheekily at him. Her cell phone ringing cut Gabriel’s remark short. She rolled her eyes to keep their mood light as she answered the phone.

“Theresa Reagan.”

_“Hey, Tess, it’s Catherine.”_

“Catherine…..” Tessa said, surprised. Gabriel nodded and walked back out of her office.

_“I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.”_

“No, not at all. What can I do for you?”

“ _Well, you know we’re hosting the Mayor’s estate dinner tomorrow night, and I checked, and I couldn't believe it, but it looks you didn't receive an invitation. Your father did, but you didn’t. Which was an oversight, I swear.”_

“I'm flattered, truly, but-”

_“Eight o’clock!”_ Catherine cheerfully reminded her. “ _See you then!”_

Catherine hung up the phone before Tessa could refuse, again. She kept her phone to her ear, listening to the dead air and dial tone on the line. Thoughts on why Catherine would want her at the Mayor’s dinner were rushing through her head.

Gabriel stuck his head back into Tessa’s office, yanking her from her thoughts again. He had a strained look on his face. “You're going to want to see this.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

Gabriel led Tessa out of her office and into the conference room where Donna and Lyall were hanging more photos onto their ‘evidence’ window. This time they were photos of Rachel Kline.

“She met Travis in a bar in Adams Morgan.” Donna started off the presentation.

“She was just out of American, working at a lobbying firm.” Gabriel read off a police report Lyall hand printed out. He handed one to Tessa. “After a night of heavy drinking, Rachel went home with Travis, and he raped her.”

“She filed a police report, rape kit and all.” Lyall pointed to the papers in their hands. “Two days later, he made three payments to her account. Bought her an S-Class to sweeten the deal.”

“She recanted her story to the police, thought she could just move on, but she couldn't function.” Donna put up a picture of a nice Victorian home. There was an S-Class in the driveway. “Had to move back in with her parents.”

“And then one night about a year later, she swallowed enough Seconal to end her life.” Lyall put up the crime scene photos of the pill container. Donna cut in for the big finish.

“She was found by a friend. Her _best_ friend.” Donna handed a photo of the two friends together. “That friend changed her hair from brunette to blonde, but it's still-”

“Helen Fisher.”


	7. Chapter 7

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

            Tessa lazily groped her bedside table for her phone. She had just gone to bed a little after midnight. She opened an eye to check the alarm clock on the table and groaned – twelve forty-five. The caller ID on her phone said ‘Lyall’. She hit her phone on the side of her mattress a couple times before answering.

            “I swear on all things holy, if you don’t get your insomnia under control-”

            _“My insomnia is just fine, thank you.”_

            “Lyall-”

            _“Police report from your brother’s raid. Handsome is still at large; none of his men are talking so far.”_

            “And this couldn’t wait a couple hours until I was in the office?”

            “ _You said you wanted to updates as they came in. This update just came in.”_

            Tessa angrily jabbed her thumb on the screen to end the call. She missed her flip-phone and the exhilarating rush of physically endind a call angrily when snapping the phone closed.

**TRAIL DAY FOUR - MORNING**

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

Tessa called a meeting with Sandra and Travis Harding before they were to appear in court later this morning. Gabriel was already in route to meet Mr. Cole at the courthouse to explain the new strategy to him.

Sandra and Travis sat patiently at the conference table as Tessa walked around them. On her second pass, she handed Sandra a photo of Helen and Rachel in their graduation robes. They were hugging and smiling joyfully for the camera.

“You were right about Helen. She was after Travis, but _not_ for the money. She was after Travis because four years ago, he raped her best friend.” Tessa stopped walking and took a seat beside Travis, facing Sandra. “Her name _was_ Rachel Kline, and you destroyed her life, Travis. But you're not guilty of raping Helen, and Rachel can _never_ testify against you, so you'll go free.”

Sandra’s mouth hung open in appealing horror. She let the photo slip from her hand and on to the conference table. “Is this true?”

“M-mom-” Travis stuttered, shocked.  

“Answer me, honey.”

“I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to disappoint you any more than I… I'm sorry.” Sandra couldn’t look at her son. She looked away, her hand on her temple. Travis kept stammering his apologies. “I-I screwed up, and I tried to fix it. I tried! You told me, you-you always said, I should fix my mistakes, so I took care of it.” He looked to Tessa for approval. “I _handled_ it.”  

**COURTROOM**

**AFTERNOON**

“ _You_ went to Tony's on Thursdays because the _defendant_ went there on Thursdays!” Mr. Cole shouted at Helen as she sat poised on the witness stand. “Isn't that right?”

“No! It-”

“You went _every_ Thursday for _six_ months. Isn't that correct?”

“Yes, but you're-”

“You _stalked_ him, didn't you?”

“Objection!” Alexis Jones stood up from behind the prosecution desk. “Argumentative.”

“Sustained,” Judge Morris declared.

“You approached him as a brunette, and then, when he _didn't_ respond, you changed your hair color so he would _notice_ you.”

“No, he hurt me!” Helen turned to the jury. “He pinned me down. He-”

“Ms. Fisher,” Judge Morris interjected, “stick to the questions.”

“You were _obsessed_! You change your hair color, you follow Travis around. Why? So you could _seduce_ him. You went home with him, you had consensual sex with him, and then you set him up. Set all of us up.”

Tessa shook her head from the viewing benches behind the defense’s side. She couldn’t take the brutal assault she was watching. Without a doubt, she knew they were going to win. All at the price of tearing this woman apart.

**COURTHOUSE**

Tessa found Sandra sitting on a bench outside of the courtroom. Sandra gave Tessa a weak smile when she saw her walking over to join her on the bench.

“He's gonna get off isn't he?” Tessa nodded her head mutely. “They're _destroying_ that girl in there. Travis is gonna be just fine…I signed him up for everything when he was a kid. Hockey, soccer, lacrosse. I figured, if I couldn't be around, at least he'd stay busy, maybe he wouldn't notice. He was great at everything, made every all-star team.” She sighed. “In ten years, I never made it to a single game.”

“It's not your fault, Sandra.”

“He hurt someone, Tess. He held her down and he-” She choked on her words, her lip quivering. “My _son_ did that. He's a....” She turned to Tessa expectantly. “What should I do? _Tell_ me.”

“There's _nothing_ you can do,” Tessa shook her head. “Who he is, _what_ he is, it's not your fault.”  

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME**

**BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK**

**EARLY EVENING**

            Even though they all get together every Sunday for dinner, they family decided Friday was a good day as any to get together. And since Tessa and Frank were heading to the Mayor’s estate dinner later that night, they kept their plates fairly light while the others piled on chicken, potatoes, and vegetables.

            Niki was still in San Francisco with her father, and Danny and Linda’s boys were spending the night over at their friends’ houses, so for once in a great while the dinner table discussion was uncensored. Talk had been filled with the Subway Samaritan since Danny walked through the back door, late.

            “I’m just saying,” Grandpa Henry began, “if people were allowed to carry guns, maybe these animals would have given it a second thought before robbing a train.”

            “If everyone on the train had a gun,” Erin tried to explain, yet again, “then maybe more people would have gotten killed.”

            “I don’t mean _everyone_ has a gun,” Henry sighed.

            “I have a gun,” Tessa added, smiling at her grandpa over her glass of wine. Henry reached over and patted Tessa’s leg.

            “Enough shop talk,” Linda rolled her eyes, smiling. “Erin, you’ve heard from Niki?”

            “Bad question,” Jamie said.

            “Having the time of her life.” Erin didn’t seem too happy about it. Deep down, she wanted her daughter’s trip to be a complete failure. “Suddenly her father is all pony rides and presents.” Around her tea mug, she murmured, “Son of a bitch.”

            “Well,” Danny draped his napkin over his lap. “He is her dad. He’s not going to stop loving her.”

            “Whose side are you on?” Erin glowered over her mug.

            “I offered to punch the guy, remember?” Danny pointed his fork at Tessa. “You too, sis.”

            “If anyone is going to punch either of those scumbags, it’ll be the girls.” Henry chuckled. “Taught them a mean right hook myself.”

            “Wouldn’t mind being there to see that,” Frank smiled.

            Tessa raised her eyebrow curiously. “Are you hoping for a show tonight?”

            Frank shrugged, keeping his expression blank. “As long as he keeps his distance, we’ll all be fine.”

            “I mean, the law’s coming after this guy because he’s carrying a gun.” Henry went back on his soapbox about the Samaritan. “And the only reason we know he was carrying a gun was because he used it in defense of another person.”

            “We can’t choose which laws to enforce, Pop, you know that.” Frank reminded his father, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table.

            “So, let’s concentrate on the robbery,” Henry shot back from the other head of the table. “On robbery, murder, and rape and we’ll get to the Good Samaritans after we’re done with the jaywalkers.”

            “It’ll make my job a whole lot easier,” Tessa nodded.

            “Reminds me,” Danny said around a mouthful of broccoli. “Erin, what’d you know about this guy, Blake Hearing?”

            “Good lawyer. Not as tough as me-”

            “Who is,” Tessa smiled. Erin smiled back before turning to Danny.

            “But he’s no pushover. Why? Did he pick up the Samaritan case?”

            “Yeah,” Danny nodded, putting his fork down. “Wondering if he’s someone I can talk to like a human being, or if this’ll just be another notch for him.”

            “Well, it’s a press case, Danny.” Tessa said. She and he father exchanged looks. He was clearly giving her a warning to either butt out or tell her brother in actual interests in the case. Tessa ignored the look to say her final peace, “it’s anyone’s notch.”

            “Oliver Young has a felony record.” Erin reminded the table. She turned to her grandfather. “And he bought a gun illegally.”

            “Well, he bought it for self-defense.” Danny said, getting back to his food. Erin fixed him with a cold stare. “Not defending him! Just saying.”

            “Sounds kind of like you are.”

            “New York does have a zero-tolerance policy for gun crimes,” Frank reminded his son.

            “Hey, whose side are you on?” Henry asked his own son.

            “Yeah, dad,” Erin turned to her father. “Whose side are you on?”

            The table was quiet as Frank mulled over his thoughts. HE sighed, glancing down. “I think Oliver Young has a big problem, and his situation a little careful consideration and a little less taking sides.”

            “Not to mention a good defense team.” Tessa downed the rest of her glass, holding eye contact with her sister.

The table’s heads turned to stare at her. They already knew she was handling Travis Harding’s rape case, now she’s subtly suggesting taking on another high-profile case against the state…against the _family_ in a sense. She put her empty glass on the table and stood.

“Like Danny, I’m just saying.” She kissed her grandfather’s cheek and took her barely touched plate into the kitchen.

**KITCHEN**

            Tessa was washing up all the pots and pans when Danny brought in his and his wife’s plates. He set them down in the sink and leaned in next to her.

            “So, hypothetically, what kind of mistakes could hurt the prosecution’s case?”

            Tessa stopped scrubbing, her back straightening. She considered herself adept at working outside of the law, outside of her family, but there was one line she would never cross – helping her family do it. The grey, murky side of the law was where she played it. She didn’t like seeing her family splash their toes in her pond.

            “Danny…”

            “I mean, it was very chaotic the night we brought him in. Uh, maybe we forgot to Mirandize him or something?”

            “Just so we are absolutely clear on what is happening, are you, a 15 year veteran of the New York City Police, asking me, a defense lawyer that _might_ have a stake in this case, for advice on dumping this case?” Danny rolled his eyes. “That’s collusion, Danny.”

            “No, it’s mercy. Mercy for a guy who stood up to a train full of robbers.”

            “You’ve seen good guys get jammed up before-”

            “And some you’ve helped, Tess.” He sighed. “Maybe this time I want to do something about it, too.”

            “Danny…” Tessa dried her hands on the dish towel hanging from the cabinet. “What’s got you so upset?”

            “This guy…this guy, he got a phone call, an anonymous phone call, saying he was better off trusting the media than the police. And he already believed it or why else would he have trusted his story to a hairdo on TV? He thinks all cops are out to make arrest, not find the truth.” Danny shook his head. “I don’t work that way.”

            “Are you proving this to him or yourself?” Tessa asked softly. It was all she could do to comfort him without confessing she was the one behind the phone call.

            Danny was about to answer her, but the kitchen door swung open. Their father walked in with the rest of the family’s dishes on his arms. Danny took one look at him before shutting up.

            “Doesn’t matter.”

            Tessa exchanged a glance with her father. She put her hand on Dany’s arm and kissed his cheek. “Sure it does.”

            She stepped around the kitchen island to place her hand on her father’s arm. “I’m going to get ready.”

            She left the two, father and son, to work through Danny’s confusion. Hopefully and with any fatherly wisdom, she wouldn’t have to mount a defense on her brother’s behalf.

**GRASSROOTS BAR**

**NIGHT**

Donna sat nervously at the bar, tapping her fingers on the wood as she waited for her drink. The bartender put it down in front of her, but before she could touch it, someone else pushed it away. She turned to yell, but then saw it was Lyall.

            “What-What the hell are you doing here?” She started looking around for the doorman. “ _How_ did you get in here? They card everyone.”

            Lyall lifted his eyebrow. “Seriously? What good would I be to Tess if I couldn’t even make a proper I.D card?”

            “Seriously, Ly, what are you doing?”

            “Setting you up.”

“Setting me up?”

Lyall leaned against the bar and held out a crisp one hundred dollar bill. The bartender tried to take it, but Lyall pulled back to make sure he as listening. “Virgin margaritas for the lady all night, and whatever her date orders gets a 3-finger pour of booze in it.”

The bartender nodded and pocketed the cash. Lyall turned back to Donna. He began to untie her braid, but she slapped his hand. Lyall sighed. “Put your hair down and take that jacket off. Flirt just enough, but not too much, and _do_ _not_ let him see you home.”

“I can handle myself, you know?” Her voice was strong, but she began doing what Lyall told her. “I _have_ been married.”

“And look how great that turned out for you.” He gave her a cheekily reassuring smile. “Besides, I heard you on the phone. You _need_ to be set up.”

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME**

**BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK**

Tessa had been upstairs in her old bedroom for over an hour with Erin and Linda. She’d brought three dresses with her and with her sisters’ help, she had settled on the Carmen Marc Valvo evening gown. It combined a sleeveless silvery jacquard illusion-bodice and jeweled neckline with a black crepe skirt that was tailored through her thigh and flared at her knee, giving her an hourglass silhouette. The hem elegantly pooled at the floor.

“Gorgeous,” Linda smiled.

“Tess!” She could hear her father calling from the bottom of the stairs. “Boat leaves in ten minutes.”

“Be right down!” She called back. She smiled at her sisters’ as they left her to put the finishing touches on to her attire: fastening pearl earrings, two lobe piercings in each ear; silvery-black smoky eye with a vivid winged out back eyeliner pared with classic red lips; a vintage, carefully messy up-do with select curls framing her face.

She waltzed down the staircase minutes later to where her father, dressed in an expertly tailored tuxedo, her grandfather and brothers waited in the living room. The men turned to watch her glide down the stairs, wonderfully amazed by her stunning beauty.

“A goddess among men,” Henry complimented with a smile. He went to her at the base of the steps to kiss her cheek. She blushed, color flooding her sculpted cheeks.

“Thanks, pops.”

“I guess being late is worth it,” Jamie smiled. Held out her silvery shawl and she turned her back to him so that he could drape it over her shoulders.

“You look fantastic, sis.” Danny kissed the top of her head carefully, not wanting to disturb her hairdo.

Frank held out his arm for her to take.

“Give that bastard O’Rourke a kick in the ass for me,” Henry told them as they climbed into Frank’s SUV.

Being the top cop in the city defiantly had its perks, being chauffeured around the city. Father and daughter were safely secured in the vehicle before the security team sitting driver and shotgun maneuvered the car onto the street.

“Dad,” Tessa said, breaking the silence, turning to face him directly. She reached out her hand to hold his. She squeezed. “Behave yourself, okay?”

“As long as he does the same.”

**MAYOR’S ESTATE DINNER**

**EIGHT P.M:**

Grand oak doors were opened by two dress Marines for Tessa and her father. Beautiful music played by a small orchestral in the corner greeted them as they walked into the ballroom. They followed the path of a red carpet like everyone that came before them. Mayor Russo and his wife, followed by Michael O’Rourke and his wife, stood beside the red carpet and greeted everyone as they arrived.

Michael was greeting important men and women alike with smiles and promises to chat later tonight. He happened to glance up for a moment and spot Tessa, escorted by her father. They were greeting the Mayor and his daughter now. Unsettled, her leans over to his wife to speak softly into her ear.

“What is Tessa doing here?”

“I invited her.” Catherine pulled away and smiled. She turned back to greeting the guests. “How are you, Bill? Good to see you.” Next was Tessa and her father. Catherine smiled brightly and held out her arms. “Tess, you look lovely.”

Tessa warmly embraced Catherine with a smile. She waved a hand to her father beside her. “You remember my father, Frank.”

“Commissioner Reagan.” Catherine held out her hand formally. She couldn’t quite judge where she stood with the Reagan family patriarch.

“Mrs. O’Rourke.” Frank smiled and shook her hand.

Catherine turned to her husband, seeing he was done greeting Senator Bill Harker. She gently touched his arm and indicated to Tessa. “Doesn't she look lovely?”

Michael’s gaze flickered to Frank before saying anything. He smiled politely at Tessa, extending his hand. “Of course. I'm so happy you could come.

“I wouldn't miss it, Mr. O’Rourke,” she replied just as formally.

“Commissioner Reagan,” Michael nodded, extending his hand.

Frank nodded back, but didn’t take the man’s hand. “Mr. O’Rourke.”

The line was backing up so Frank and Tessa moved along. Their tension simmered down with distance. As the two walked, they stopped to greet others in passing. Tessa was a natural; she remembered everything and asked after the little things. She easily flowed through the crowd, bringing happiness and belonging with her.

Standing nearby Michael and Catherine, yet blocked from sight by a pillar, Christopher kept his eye on Tessa. He noticed the way Michael followed her out of the corner of his eyes, the way he’d tilt his head to look at her between greeting guests. Not once did Tessa look back at him. He sighed. He knew what he had to do later tonight, but dreaded it. She was a friend, not only to him but to his husband. Doing this hurts everyone involved.

As the night wore on, the orchestra changed their music to a slow, up-tempo jazz. While her father talked with various people, she was asked to the dance floor by David Howser.

“You're better than I expected,” Tessa chuckled, smiling up at him.

“Oh, they had ballroom dancing at Andover.” David lifted his arm to twirl Tessa around. “It was the only way I could get near a girl back then,” he pushed her out to spin her back in, holding her there to whisper in her ear, “so I took it twice.”

She spun out of his hold to face him again. “Glad to see it's working out for you.” They laughed and continued their dance. He held her gaze with a smirk. “What?”

“I'm trying to figure out how I can sexually harass you and get away with it.”

“David,” Tessa looked away and rolled her eyes.

“What?” He chuckled. “We don’t work together. You could date me. I'm a catch.” He raised his eyebrow suspiciously. “Or is there another guy?”

Before Tessa could answer, Catherine waltzed over and cleared her throat. She stepped away from Michael and placed a hand on David’s shoulder.

“I'd like a turn with the best dancer in New York.” As an afterthought, she glanced at Michael. “No offense, Michael.”

“None taken,” Michael shook his head, smiling.

“You mind?” Catherine smiled at Tessa, looking hopeful.

“No,” she backed away from David so that Catherine could step in.

The song ended just then. Smiling, they turned to the orchestra and clapped. The orchestra bowed in acknowledgement before playing a more romantic jazz tune. Partners resumed their dances, only slower.

Michael and Tessa faced each other, an odd sensation filling them both. It was hard not to smile at the circumstances. Michael offered her his hand and she took it, stepping into his embrace to dance.

By the edge of the dance floor, Christopher leaned against the open bar. He downed his glass of scotch when he saw the bartender approach. He shook the empty glass. “Keep them coming.”

“Yes, sir,” the bartender nodded and refilled the glass.

He needed as many of these as possible for what he was going to do. Pissing off Gabriel before the event hadn’t helped either. He wanted his husband nowhere near this catastrophe when he swung the axe down. His plan was to crush Tessa and then explain the ‘truth’ to Gabriel when he got home. No doubt, Gabriel would be waiting up to yell some more.

He was drowning his marriage not to protect Michael’s but to protect the company he ran. Ambition and power came first to Christopher. Make no mistake, he loved his husband fiercely and with every ounce of his being….but sometimes love took a backseat.

“I guess this is Cat’s way of getting us all to be friends again.” Michael said to her softly. “Is it working?”

“Don't look at me,” Tessa replied, looking at anything other than him.

“I think its working.”

“Michael-”

“How come I can’t look at you?”

“Because everyone will know.”

“I can't _not_ look at you.” Michael chuckled. Throughout the entire dance, he had never once taken his eyes off of her.

“The song will be over in a minute,” she reminded herself more than him.

“This is ridiculous,” Michael softly shook his head, finally looking away from her. “ _Everything_ is ridiculous. How did it all get so…” He sighed, turning his head back to her. “Damn it, just look at me. _Look at me_ ,” he whispered, lower in his throat. She looked up at him. “Meet me in the rose garden in ten minutes.”

She immediately looked away. “No.”

“I am _not_ spending any more time away from you.”

“Stop it,” she commanded in a fierce whisper. “We're in public. Look _away_.”

“I know I don't have the right. I _know_. I know you don't trust me. I…” He sighed. He lowered his head to whisper in her ear, passionately, earnestly, “I love you.”

Tessa pulled her head away from his lips. “Your _wife_ is ten feet away-”

“I _love_ you.”

“What about Cynthia?”

“I. Love. You.” He said each word powerfully, starring into her eyes so that she, too, could see the truth behind every word. The music was coming to a slow fade. “Rose garden, ten minutes.”

They stood still on the dance floor, applause erupting from around them. Michael made no move to break away. His eyes still fixed upon her. She finally looked at him. “You can't leave your own dinner.”

“Watch me,” he whispered, giving her the coy smile she fell in love with years ago. He broke away, clapping, heading back to his wife.

The band resumed playing an up-beat jazz number.    

**GRASSROOTS BAR:**

“Generous bartender,” Gregory smiled.

“I know. I’m…so buzzed.” Donna said, not the least bit convincingly.

“So,” he leaned forward on his stool, “should we get to it?”

“I'm sorry?”

“I know why you called.”

“You do…” Her eyebrows scrunched for a moment.

“To find out what I know, dig around, find my weak spots. Let me save you some time.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He handed it to her. “I have tried every drug but the needle drugs, but I'm only addicted to "SportsCenter" and my BlackBerry. I talked my way out of a D.U.I. in Lubbock, but the arrest record is still on file. Texas!” He shook his head playfully. “And in eighth grade, I stuffed the ballot box not in an attempt to rig the student council election, but to get closer to Jenny Marconi. I’m not into power. Still lost, though.”

“Okay,” Donna smiled, still not sure where all of this was going.

“I'm not giving up this story.” Gregory took back his phone and put it in his pocket. It's my ticket off of Metro and on to national, and don't tell me it's not a story, 'cause that would insult what little intelligence I have, and I wouldn't believe you anyway, 'cause your boss is involved, and you're a terrible liar who's not the _least_ bit buzzed, and I know that because you've had as much as I've had, and while I am _genuinely_ buzzed, you are coiled like a cobra 'cause you're so _freakin' tense_.” He picked up his drink and splashed some into hers. “Now that you know everything, let's forget about work for a couple of hours, get you a real drink.”

Gregory took a sip from his glass while Donna fiddled with her stir stick. She shook her head. “Why did you break the deal with Tessa?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You called Cynthia. I was there when she got the call.”

“Don't get me wrong, I'm digging. I called Cynthia's college roommate, I called her friends at the Ivory Tower, but I absolutely, _positively_ did _not_ call Cynthia. I'm keeping my promise.” He tapped his fingers twice on the bar. “I want that quote.”

**MAYOR’S ESTATE DINNER**

Tessa was casually strolling along the balcony, looking down at the ballroom below. She smiled, spotting her father waltzing with Kelly Davidson. They both appeared professional in their interaction, but Tessa could see they spark of passion between them. Kelly was a friend and her father was, well, her father. She supported them both.

She smiled cheerfully seeing Christopher walking towards her. “Oh, Chris. Hello. Where’s Gabe-”

“I don't know what you think you're playing at, Tess, but I don't take kindly to blackmail.” His voice was low, crawling with menace.

“Uh,” she strutted, overwhelmingly confused. “I'm sorry. What?”

His voice dropped an octave. Low. Insidious. “I never took you for the ‘hell hath no fury’ type. It's a little trashy, but so is having an affair with a _married_ man.”

Tessa, too, dropped her voice low and compelling. “You want to be careful, Christopher, with how you speak to me, because I might forget that we are friends. Now if you'll excuse me-”

Tessa tried to side-step around him, but he blocked her path. He moved closer to where their faces were merely breaths apart. “What happened, you danced, he said he loved you?” He stepped closer to her, causing her to step backwards in response until she was against a pillar. “What, are you gonna go meet him right now? He's good.” He chuckled darkly. “He has you in the palm of his hand. You're being _played_.” He was in her face now, whispering low into her ear, “You're being played by the best politician in the world.” He pulled back to stare emotionlessly with dark, unforgiving eyes. “The upside? The tell-all book that you can write when you're old - _The Ivory Tower Whore_ \- it's all very dirty and best seller.”

The man standing before her wasn’t the man she knew, the man she respected, the man she loved like family. This man was something else entirely. He was Hell’s fury, the Ivory Tower’s hell hound come to tear to pieces anyone that stands in their way. He had become Michael’s very creation, the embodiment of evil.

Christopher backed away, motioning over his guards from the shadows they hid in. “These men are going to escort you off the grounds. Don’t worry. I’ll make your excuses to your father, wouldn’t want him to worry.” He turned on his heel to leave, calling over his shoulder, “And you can tell Cynthia Baxter that the meeting is _off_.”  

**OUTSIDE**

A cab was waiting for Tessa when she was escorted outside. The men never left more than two inches by her side until they saw her into the cab. One of them stood by the cab door, making sure she wouldn’t try to get out, while the other leaned into the driver’s side window to hand the cabbie a $100 bill and told him Tessa’s address.

“No stops. No detours.”

“Got it,” The cabbie nodded, enthusiastically. The guard pulled back and signaled the cabbie to go. Without delay, the cabbie pulled out.

When they were safely out of the Mayor’s estate, Tessa pulled out another $100 bill. “Pit stop in SoHo.” The cabbie glanced at her money in the rearview mirror. She tapped it on the glass. “More money. No questions.”

Finally, the cabbie sighed. He turned around.

**HARDING HOUSE**

            Tessa was desperately knocking on the large door to Sandra Harding’s pristine white mansion. She didn’t stop knocking until she heard Sandra rushing to the door.

“I was wrong before,” Tessa launched as soon as Sandra opened the door.

“Tessy, it’s _late_ ,” Sandra said curiously, her eyes squinting to adjust to the bright porch light.

“I was wrong before about it not being your fault. It _is_ your fault.”

“W-What?” Sandra held onto the door.  

“You _love_ him. You do. But you can't fix everything for him. You _can't_. He's playing you because you let him. You give him everything he asks for and you clean up his messes and you believe him even when he lies to you, and that is…” An unchecked tear rolled down her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat. “That is _not_ love. Love is making him face who he is. The best thing you can do for him is to do the best thing _for_ him.” Tessa shook her head, “It's not your fault, what he did, but letting him get away with it, _that is your fault_.”

Sandra stood in the doorway of her home, pink dressing robe secured around her, hand on the door keeping her steady. She stared at Tessa in absolute shock. Before she could say anything, Tessa whirled around and got back into her cab that waited impatiently in the driveway.

**TAXI CAB**

            Tessa had he head leaned back, resting on the seat’s uncomfortable headrest. The stench back here was awful, reminding her on why she never took cabs. She could feel her body draining of energy, or caring. She was halfway home. Just a couple more minutes and she could safely collapse into a bottle of wine and a comfortable bed.

            No such relief came.

            Her phone started ringing. Caller ID said _Kelly Davidson._ Tessa had half the mind to ignore the call and let it go to voicemail, but since Kelly was handling Oliver Young for her, she might as well make the effort to listen to her.

            “Kelly, it’s late.”

            _“Wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important. Meet me at your office. I have something you might be interested in.”_

            With that, Kelly hung up. Tessa pinched her eyes closed and softly banged her head on the back of the seat. She reached into her purse and grabbed another $100 bill. She tapped on the glass.

            “Last stop.”

**MAYOR’S ESATE**

**ROSE GARDEN**

Christopher found Michael at the back of the Mayor’s estate, standing in the middle of the rose garden. He has noticeably been away from the dinner for nearly half an hour.

“Michael,” Christopher called out as he approached.

“Chris.” Michael turned, shock coloring his face. He looked around as if Tessa would walk up suddenly and they would be discovered. “This is not a good time.”

“Theresa not coming.”

“What?” Michael asked, convincingly playing the fool.

“She canceled the meeting with Cynthia Baxter.” Christopher shook his head mournfully. “She was playing you, twisting the knife. I'm sorry, sir.”

Realization dawned on him. His face fell, turning away from Christopher so that he wouldn’t have to see the other man. He raked his hand through his hair, ashamed and embarrassed by his lapse of judgement.

“I-I…” He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I need to get back to my wife.”

Michael left Christopher in the rose garden, alone with his actions as his only company.  

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

            Tessa’s cabbie escort was thoroughly pissed at her. She finally convinced him to drop her off at the office and then take off. She’d spend the night on her couch if she had to. But there was no way she was getting back into that disgusting petri dish.

            Kelly had arrived at the office before Tessa and was let in by Lyall. Being an insomniac, he had nothing else to do except COD. They were both in the conference room when Tessa arrived, a video already prepared on the screen.

            “This was e-mailed to me a little over an hour ago.” She nodded for Lyall to play the video message.

            The black screen came to life with Handsome’s face the focus. Behind him, it seemed clear that he was riding the subway.

            “ _Hey Kelly Davidson, tell me how it is you giving all this time to this shoot-and-run punk and you missing the_ real _story. Handsome is public enemy number one. And the NYPD can’t touch my beautiful ass. Tomorrow, I’m gonna rob another train. And this time, it ain’t gonna be one of_ my _boys that’s gonna get killed. And I’m gonna give you_ exclusive _footage to some_ real _six o’clock news.”_

Lyall stopped the footage and the screen went dark. Tessa tapped her fingers on the table and bit her bottom lip.

            “When do you go to my father with this?”

            “First thing tomorrow morning. Chief Sheppard from Brooklyn South will be there as well as my producer.”

            “It was e-mailed anonymously, but Ms. Davidson gave me a copy of the e-mail.” Lyall pulled out the thumb drive with the video on it and handed it back to Kelly. “I’ll start a trace. See if we can’t tip off the NYPD a little bit faster.”

            Lyall left the room. Tessa turned to Kelly. “My father is going to ask you not to broadcast this message or anything else you have or get from Handsome.”

            “That’s a big concession on our part. Channel 10 won’t like it.” Kelly slipped the drive into her purse. “Because of you, there was a lot of sympathy for Oliver Young’s interview. And there is a lot of interest in seeing Handsome and his crew taken off the streets.”

            “And my father shares your interests, Kelly, believe me. But he will _not_ allow this to be aired.”

Kelly crossed her arms over her chest, subtly pushing her breasts up. “What should I do then?”

“Make him a counter offer; a reasonable one at that. If he doesn’t comply, then Chanel 10 will air this message and whatever else it receives without screening it by the police first. Remind him that tomorrow morning’s meeting is a curtesy, that Channel 10 has a long history of aiding the NYPD.”

“I’d like to be there when the police make the arrest. That’s my offer. I’ll hold back for twenty-four hours, or until the robbery happens.”

“That’s not much of a deal.” Tessa shook her head. “The commissioner will not allow the lives of police officers to be endangered by the presence of reporters or press. He won’t budge from that.”

“Plan B?” Tessa sat down wearily a chair, sighing. “Come on, Tess, you always have a plan B.”

            “Plan B is not something I like doing to my family.”

            “But it is something that you’re willing to do…?”

            Tessa looked up at Kelly. “Go ahead and tape tomorrow night’s exclusive. Make sure you have a copy of it when you meet tomorrow morning. You can try all you want with negotiation, but bottom line, your plan of attack is your exclusive.”

            Kelly pulled out her phone and began texting her producer to set everything up. She would head out straight to the studio from here. She leaned over and kissed Tessa’s cheek.

            “Drinks are on me once this is put to bed.”

            Tessa allowed herself a few moments of silence to berate herself. She was pulling the rug out from underneath her father so that her client, Oliver, would look more favorable to a jury. No wonder people hate lawyers, she just sold out her father for a reporter.

            She slowly made her way to her office. She didn’t bother flicking on the lights. She stripped out of her dress and heels, and undid her hair. She was too exhausted to make it home. Sleeping half-naked on her couch seemed like the best idea to put a terrible day behind her.

            She was covering herself up with an afghan when her cell phone rang. Again, she was hesitant to answer.

            The caller ID said it was Sandra Harding.

**SATURDAY MORNING**

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

Thank God for Lyall or else she would have gone to a meeting with Sandra and her son dressed in her underwear. As expensive and lovely as they were, they were entirely not appropriate for the situation. Lyall woke her up by bringing a steaming cup of New England coffee to her. He allowed her to sit on the couch, wrapped in the afghan, sipping her coffee as he picked an outfit out of her wardrobe dresser.

            Lyall laid out a white t-shirt dress that had a long and straight silhouette and round neckline. He paired it with a gold platted belt and studs, and a pair of white flats.

            For how he dressed himself, Lyall shouldn’t be as good with picking outfits as he was. Currently, he wore faded Star Wars tee and cosmo-galaxy print skinny jeans. R2-D2 and C3P-O gauges were in his ears.

            “Wash your face, you look like trash.” Lyall said, taking the mug from Tessa’s hands. “The Hardings will be here in thirty minutes. That should be enough for you to look human. Try a messy bun.”

            “Thanks,” Tessa glowered.

            “Oh, Kelly Davidson called. She left a message – _You were right. Went to Plan B_.” With that, Lyall left Tessa to get dressed.

            Nearly an hour later, Tessa looked more or less alive and sat opposite of the Hardings at the conference table. When Sandra called late last night, she asked for a meeting. She wanted options. She wanted a plan. She took what Tessa said to heart – that all of this was her fault for spiraling out of hand. She needed to get her son help, one way or another.

“You want me to turn myself in?” Travis repeated what Tessa had just told him. He glanced back and forth between her and his mother. “That's a little drastic, right? Mom?”

“You _raped_ that girl, Travis. She _killed_ herself.”

“Well, _that_ wasn't my fault.” He looked over at Tessa. “It _wasn't_.”

“Travis, please.” Sandra turned his attention back to her. “This is hard enough.”

“So I made a couple of payments? They can't put me away for that.”

“There's a rape kit,” Tessa spoke up. “It's got your D.N.A. all over it.”

“She never pressed charges. They don't even have my name.” Travis explained. He turned back to his mother. “It happened once. It'll never happen _again_. I _promise_.”

“Travis-” Tessa began, but Travis slammed his hand down on the table, causing his mother to jump.

“I'm not _talking_ to you! I'm talking to my mother.” Travis yelled at Tessa before turning back to his mother. His boyish charm resurfaced, giving her a slight smile. “I'll go away. How's that sound? I'll go to Europe for a couple of years. And then I'll come back and run the company. That was always the plan anyway. That's a good compromise, _right_?”

“That's what I thought you'd say,” Sandra said quietly. She pulled back from her son.

“Well, good.” Travis smiled. He turned to Tessa triumphantly. “That takes care of the problem.”

Sandra stood up and lovingly placed a hand on her son’s cheek. Her bottom lip quivered. “I've already taken care of it, honey.”

The conference room doors opened and two New York City police officers came into the room, handcuffs already drawn.

“You didn't.” Travis’ eyes were wide, horrified. “Mom? Mom, don't do this, mom!”

Sandra couldn’t look at her son anymore. She withdrew her hand as the officers came closer. She gathered her purse and briskly walked out the door. Travis shouted after her.

“Mom! Don't do this. Mom, listen to me. Please!”

The officers took Travis away as he continued to yell for his mother. Samuel Lynch, who had hung back outside the conference room doors, walked in. Tessa stood up from her seat and walked to him.

“Alexis Jones, my friend?” The corner of his mouth twitched as he cocked his head to the side. “Got transferred to misdemeanors.”

“Oh?” Tessa said innocently enough.

“Something about incompetence…” Samuel mussed. “Didn't research the defendant well.”

“How sad for you,” Tessa smiled cheekily.

“Okay,” Samuel leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” She looked at him curiously.  

“Maybe we can be friends.” He walked away with his hands in his pockets. “ _Maybe_.”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INC.**

**“THE IVORY TOWER”**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

Catherine rarely came to the Ivory Tower unless Michael’s business called for it. Today, she came to check in on him. Something happened at the estate dinner last night that altered his mood considerably. This morning, she could tell it was still affecting him.

She knocked on the door as she walked in. “You okay?”

Michael was at his desk, chair turned away from the door to face the city. He sat starring out at the cityscape, an ignored land report sitting in his lap. He heard the clicking of his wife’s heels as she walked further into the office.

“Why did you invite her to the estate dinner?” He asked, not bothering to soften his tone like he normally would for his wife.

“Tessa?” Catherine asked innocently.

Michael stood up and tossed the report on his desk. He stalked around it, keeping his dark eyes fixed predatorily on his wife. He stopped in the middle of the room, putting his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something he might regret.

“ _Why_ would you do that?”

Unphased, Catherine stood in front of him, her back straight and voice unwavering. “Because you needed to see her.”

She silently lifted her hands to his tie, adjusting it. Slowly and deliberately, she tightened it like a noose around his neck. As if speaking to one of their children, she softly said, “I trust that tonight, you'll sleep like a baby.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

            Tessa just got off the phone with Kelly. Handsome put out a five thousand dollar bounty on Oliver Young. A kid, no more than fifteen years old, gave Oliver a good stab to the side while he was being moved from general holding to the dorms.

            Thankfully, Oliver was in stable condition at the hospital. Danny was with him now, so Tessa was going to take her meeting with Gregory Williams before heading over to the hospital. She still wanted to remain an anonymous third-party, but she still had a heart.

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Gregory stood with his back to the glaring windows. This room was nothing but windows and with the sun at its highest his hangover got no relief. The French doors opened and Tessa walked in…alone.

“Wait. Where's Cynthia?” Gregory demanded.  

“Change of plan.” Tessa walked to the table and placed her purse down. “You're not getting a quote from Cynthia.”

“Screwed by Theresa Reagan. Why am I _not_ surprised?” Gregory scoffed, throwing his hands out.  

Tessa chuckled, not taking it personally. “You're getting something _better_. Something that will actually _help_ your career - an interview with Sandra Harding.” She handed him a brown file with the name ‘Harding’ on it. “Have you heard of her?”

“H.D.X., right? Her company's worth $300 million.”

“About an hour ago, she turned her son into U.S. attorney Samuel Lynch for rape. Tomorrow she's going to resign.” Tessa sat on the edge of the conference table. “She's agreed to tell you and _only_ _you_ her side of the story. Not only will your byline be on the front page of your paper, but this story, your _exclusive_ story, will be chased by every major newspaper in the country. And they'll get _nothing_. I know it's not cherry blossoms, but-”

“Thank you.” He said instantly, thumbing through the exstensice file. He looked up, sincerely grateful. “Thank you.”

“Gregory, _that_ was a meeting.” She said smugly. She nodded to the French door. Gregory smiled, getting the signal. “You’ve got work to do.”

Donna waited until she heard the lobby door close before stepping out of Tessa’s office. She didn’t want Gregory to see her.

“Tessa, it's probably nothing, but Gregory said this thing at drinks about how he never called Cynthia, not _once_.”

Tessa held her gaze softly. “And what does your gut say?”

“My gut says to believe him. My _gut_ says he's not lying.” Donna signed. “I don't think Cynthia's telling you everything.”

Tessa didn’t respond. She remained silent, starring at Donna, assessing what to do next, whom to believe. After a moment’s thought and Donna’s nervous foot tapping, Tessa stood up. She gathered her purse and left the office.

She didn’t believe reports on principal…but she did believe Cynthia wasn’t telling the truth. Her gut says Cynthia Baxter is lying.

**HOSPITAL**

            Oliver was out of surgery and in stable condition. His visit from te police, however, didn’t help any. The nurse’s upped his sedation to get him to relax and remain comfortable as to not disturb his wound.

            When Tessa walked up to the room, the guard standing outside the door stopped Tessa before she could get any further.

            “Theresa Reagan,” was all she had to say. Her name opened doors on both sides of the law. The guard nodded her in.

            Mrs. Young looked up from the plastic chair she was sitting in beside Oliver’s bed. The children were doing their coloring and homework and on the hard cushioned couch by the window.

            “You’re not a doctor or a nurse. So you have to be a cop.” Mrs. Young said. She squeezed her husband’s hand.

            Tessa gave her a comforting smile. “A cop? No.”

            “Then who are you?” The little girl coloring said. Her hair swung in pigtails beside her head.

            “I’m a lawyer friend of Ms. Davidson’s.” She turned back to Mrs. Young. “A mutual friend of ours called a couple days ago.”

            This got her attention. Her back straightened and her grip of her husband’s hand tightened. “A lawyer….you’re going to be Oliver’s lawyer for trial? W-We can’t pay whatever it is you normal get.”

            “No, Mrs. Young, I’m not going to represent your husband. He doesn’t need a lawyer.”

            “But that ADA, Hearing, said-”

            “Blake Hearing won’t pursue your husband’s case. Not because he believes in what your husband did, not because he want’s justice or sides with the law, it’s because your husband’s case won’t make his career. Oliver is already a local hero for standing up to Handsome and getting stabbed for doing what is right. No jury would convict. With the District Attorney on board to not charge, you’re looking at a long probation.”

            Mrs. Young’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a yelp. Her eyes were already flooding with tears. The children rushed to their mom, thinking something was wrong. All Tessa could do was smile.

            “The man on the phone was wrong, Mrs. Young. Sometimes the law works out on your side.”

**APARTMENT BUILDING OF TESSA REAGAN**

            The building’s doorman politely opened the large front door for Tessa as she walked up. She was carrying her briefcase and an extra-large brown bag of take-out food.

            “Thanks, Jerry.” Tessa smiled.

            “No problem, Miss Reagan.” Jerry tipped his cap to her and stepped back outside.

            She was hallway in the lobby when her phone beeped. She sighed, exhausted from the day and wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hot tub with a full bottle of wine and a good looking man. She unceremoniously dumped the take-out bag and briefcase on the nearest flat surface and pulled out her phone. It was Kelly.

            _“Commissioner got a call. Handsome arrested at 149 /3 station.”_

            So that was it. Danny got Handsome and Kelly got Frank. Tessa’s known for a long while now that Kelly and her father have been involved with each other. Hell, she was probably the first and only one to know. Both Kelly’s and Frank’s jobs clashed constantly that it was dangerous territory they were swimming in. They knew if word got out, Frank would most likely resign.

            That’s why Tessa was back up. Frank didn’t know Tessa was involved, Kelly was a good actress and kept it that way. Tessa only monitored the situation when need be and gave a pointer here and there like she would any Congressman or state official.

            Neither were married, what they were doing wasn’t illegal, but some would view it as a major conflict of interest the bordered on leaking privileged information. With how great of a cop Tessa’s father is, he had no shortage of enemies that could tear him down with this.

            Tessa protected her father like he had protected her all these years. She’d keep his secret, she’d keep him safe. Kelly and Frank would enjoy the night together not knowing Tessa would have Lyall wipe any and all footage of them in the building.

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

**NIGHT**

           Tessa hadn’t seen Cynthia since breakfast yesterday. Thankfully, Lyall sent her a text on Tessa’s phone saying she was staying at her father’s place after the dinner. Tessa was grateful because her gut was giving her mixed signals. Mixed signals weren’t welcomed in this line of work.

           Tessa waited until after dinner to tell Cynthia what happened at the estate dinner. She softened the language, but she still got the message.

           “H-He's mad at me. I get that.” Cynthia shot from the couch after Tessa explained that the meeting was called off. “But if I could just have _five_ _minutes_ alone with him-”

           “I know how hard this is, Cynthia.”

           Cynthia chuckled darkly. “I'm sure you do.”

          “You're afraid that it was _nothing_ , that he's forgotten it already, tossed you like yesterday's paper, and moved on without another thought. And if he's forgotten, then it's almost as if it never happened, that what you had with him wasn't _real_ , and that makes you feel completely and utterly alone.” She spoke softly, but now her voice grew. It grew in earnest and understanding. After all, Cynthia wasn't the only one in this room to have had an affair.

          “But I haven't forgotten. I know what _happened_. I know it was _real_. And whatever you decide to do here, however you want to play this thing out, I will stand beside you _every step_ of the way.”

          Cynthia sat back down beside Tessa, shoulder hunched over. She felt utterly defeated. Tessa laid a comforting hand on her leg.

        “If you ask me to, I will make him remember and you will never, _ever_ be alone in this again, but I'm gonna need _everything_ \- every _truth_ , every _detail_. If I'm going to stand with you, Cynthia, I need to hear _all_ of it.”

         Cynthia looked up at her would-be savior and delivered an unspeakable truth. A truth no matter how hard Michael’s men tried to deny, everyone would know the truth – about who he really is, about what he’s really done. It was a truth Cynthia intended to live with the rest of her life.

          “I'm pregnant.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

**SUNDAY MORNING – 3AM**

            There was a loud, pounding knock on Theresa Reagan’s door at 3 in the morning. She covered herself in her vintage indigo silk haori kimono jacket that had gorgeous hand painted plant detail with a golden border and tied it around her waist with the black and white sash tie. It was a gift from her last fiancé, and one of the only things she didn’t return to him. She opened the door and standing in the brightly lit hallway was her younger brother Jamie.

“You know what's interesting about being engaged? Fiancées don't like it when you get out of bed at 3:00 A.M. to go see another woman. Even if is my sister.” Jamie stepped into the apartment to kiss Tessa on the cheek. He held up a bottle of wine. “But, you called, I came, and I brought your best friend Shiraz. Speaking of best friends, were’s Gabriel-”

Tessa took the bottle of wine from him and walked directly into the kitchen. Jamie stepped into the apartment foyer before closing the door behind him.

“Tessa?”

“Hey, Tess.” When he got to the kitchen, her back was turned to him. He heard her uneven breathing, like she was about to cry. She was struggling to open the bottle of wine.

He quickly stripped off his jacket and laid it on the table. He placed his hands on either of her shoulders, causing her to slightly jump. “Hey. Hey. I got it.”

As Jamie opened to bottle of wine and brought down a glass from the cupboard, Tessa anxisouly paced the kitchen floor, twisting her hands together and tried to control her breathing.

“I-I can’t talk to Gabriel with this; he’d tell Christopher and-and I can’t have him knowing until….”

“Know _what_? What’s going on?”

Tessa quiets Jamie for being too loud, waving her hand for him to tone it down. “Cynthia's asleep in the guest room. I don't want to wake her.”

“Who’s Cynthia?” Jamie askes as he held out a glass of wine for her. Tess accepts it and in one breath takes it all down. She gasps for air when she brings the empty glass down. She places it on the counter and wipes her mouth with a shaking hand.

“She’s my client. She….she had an affair with someone, someone extremely powerful. That’s all fine and dandy, cake walk in the park, right? I can do that in my sleep.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’…”

“But now she’s pregnant,” Tessa whispered, chuckling darkly underneath her breath. She takes the bottle of wine from Jamie and pours herself another glass. She walked over to the adjacent counter and picked up five pregnancy tests, all different brands. She tossed them on the counter beside Jamie.

While Jamie was looking at them, seeing that they are all positive, Tessa downs her second full glass of wine.

“You should have seen me forcing water down her throat to make her pee. It was like something out of Abu Ghraib.”

“Okay….” Jamie took a breath and looked at his frazzled big sister. He’s seen her in tight spots before, but none of them had her like this. “Freaking out over a pregnant adulterer and not telling Gabriel about it…I feel like there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Tessa turned away from her brother to pour herself a third glass of wine. Almost inaudible, she said, “Michael O’Rourke, CEO and Founder of O’Rourke Enterprises & Holdings Incorporated, is the father.”

She turned to her brother, tears welling in her eyes and an unsteady hand holding a full glass of wine. “My client is pregnant with the baby of a man almost as powerful as the President of the United States.”

“Are you sure it's his?”

She nodded emphatically. “I'm sure.”

“Tess-”

“I am _beyond_ sure, Jamie.” This time, when she brought the wine to her lips, she only drank half of it.

Thinking ahead, Jamie corked the bottle of wine and put it away. “How bad is this for you? You were engaged to him, best friends with his wife. Hell, Tess, _your_ current best friend and employee is married to _his_ best friend and employee.” He took the glass of wine out of her hands and placed it on the counter before putting his hands on her shoulders. “There's no shame in saying you can't handle this. There is more than enough conflict of interest-“

Jamie was cut off by Tessa’s cell phone chirping. She turned away from her brother. She unplugged her cell from its charger. Caller I.D. said the office.

“What?” Tessa snapped.  

“ _You'd better come down to the office,”_ Lyall strongly suggested. “ _There's an army here_.”

“An army of what?” Tessa sighed. She placed her head in her hand. The wine was catching up to her. “Reporters? Lawyers?”

“ _An_ actual _army.”_

“Tess,” Jamie said. He was worried for her.

Even with his limited time on the force, he’s already seem what kind of scum walk around in tailored suits. The other day, the doctor of a pregnant women was killed because she was wouldn’t abort the woman’s child. The guy was married and already had kids.

“I’ve got to go.” She picks up her glass on downs the rest. After a moment, she looked down at the empty glass in her hand. “ _We_ gotta go in. I need to put on some decent clothes, and we'll take your car because I think I've had too much wine to drive. I'll be ready in two minutes.”

“Tess-” Jamie tried calling after her as loud as he could without having to wake up Cynthia.

“No, I'm fine. Really. I'm good now.” She raked her hands through her hair and wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her hands. Her eyes were puffy and she looked like a mess. “I can handle anything. Two minutes.”

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN & ASSOSIATES**

“I didn't know.” Donna kept telling Lyall while they stood by the elevator doors waiting for Tessa to show up. In the lobby of Tessa’s office was a hoard of armed, uniformed, foreign men. “They barged in. They wouldn't even say who they were.”

“You were alone. You did the right thing.” Lyall kept his sentences short and clipped while retaining focus on the men inside the office. He angled his body casually in front of Donna’s.

“I should've stopped them. I just surrendered, without a fight. I surrendered the _whole_ office.”

“You putting up a fight means paperwork and a body bag.”

The elevator doors parted and Tessa stepped off while firing her questions. “Who's speaking at the O.A.S.? Who's in town?”

Jamie got off the elevator behind Tessa. Everyone was in crisis business mode and he felt like a sore thumb, out of place. “O.A.S.?”

Lyall held out his hand to shake Jamie’s. “Organization of American States. Their annual conference this week.”

“Bolivia, Brazil, Haiti, Honduras,” Donna rattled off the list of countries attending that she found on her phone.

Tessa stopped short of the office door and turned to Donna. “Were they Cubans? They've been wooing us for months.”

In a deadpan, serious tone, Lyall asked, “Would you like me to get a gun?”

Jamie turned to Lyall. The boy looked to be in his early twenties, late teens. “You have a gun?”

Donna turned to Jamie and smiled, “I have one, too.”

“No guns!” Tessa said. She turned to the door, placing her hand on the knob, and took a deep breath. She waited a calming moment before opening the door.

Inside, twenty men in woodland camo, red berets, and loaded utility belts, sipping coffee and chatting, turned to the group entering the office.

Amused, Jamie turned to Donna. “You gave them coffee?”

“So they wouldn't kill me,” She shrugged.

As Tessa got closer, the men put down their cups and formed a human barricade. Some of the men placed their hands on their side arms. Jamie unconsciously did the same, but he wasn’t wearing his gun. He had left it at home.

“Buenos días, señores. (Good morning, gentlemen.)” Tessa greeted them as she stood before them. “Muchas gracias por visitarnos, pero tengo que llegar a mi oficina ahora. (Thank you very much for visiting us, but I have to get to my office now.)”

            The soldiers stepped aside to reveal who they were protecting. In the conference room, behind the glass French doors, stood a man in a green dress uniform, with medals and ribbons adorning his chest, golden chords on his shoulders, and vibrant ranks on his epilates.

“Of course,” Tessa muttered, turning to face her team. “El general.”

Donna tried ducking around Tessa to see who it is. “Who is it?”

“General Benicio Florez,” Jamie sighed. He gave his sister a cautious look.

Lyall’s body became rigid. Through gritted teeth, he said loud enough for the soldiers to hear as well, “Otherwise known as ruthless, repressive, political freedom-hating, police brutality-loving, South American leftist dictator.”

Tessa turned away from her brother. This is one of the reasons she didn’t like having her family in her office – they get to glimpse at the sort of clientele her reputation attracts. She looked back at the man in her conference room.

“And sworn enemy of the United States.”

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Before Tessa took this meeting with General Florez, she sent her brother away. He refused to go at first. He didn’t like his sister, and two of her questionable employees with equally questionable access to firearms, near a butcher such as the General. Tessa reassured him that she would be alright, and that if it would make him feel better she would call him just as soon as their meeting ended. Jamie warned her that if she didn’t that he would tell dad and have the entire NYPD breaking down her door.

            She asked him to make her excuses at church in later this morning and that she would try to be home for dinner. She also asked him not the mention General Florez, especially to their family, until her business with his was concluded. Jamie gave no promises as he left.

            After seeing her brother to the elevator, Tessa greeted General Florez in the conference room. Normally, she would have the rest of her team in the meeting as well, but the General’s soldiers had them wait outside the doors. It was too early in the morning for her to argue with twenty armed men and a dictator so she agreed.

           My wife and my two youngest children were kidnapped.” General Florez rapped his knuckles on the edge of the conference table. “Taken from a restaurant this past evening near Times Square. My oldest son, Felipe, saw them being pulled away in a van.”

“Is the FBI on it?”

“The FBI probably did this!” General Florez shouted. He took a deep breath and raked his hand in his hair. “Look, the only reason I'm even in this country is because of this O.A.S. conference. _Half_ of my security detail was sent away at the airport. Does that give you an idea of what kind of cooperation I'm gonna get from this government?”

“They've been trying to overthrow you for years, General Florez, is that correct?”

General Florez walked around the table to where Tessa perched on the edge. He was inches away from her and spoke passionately. She could see who deeply troubled her was. “I know that in the eyes of your president, I'm somewhere between Castro and Gadhafi. But before I am a so-called dictator, before I am a general, I am a _husband_. I am a _father_. And I need to have my family safe. I will do anything to see them again. You are my best and my _only_ chance.”

**ELEVATOR BAY**

           Lyall and Donna watched from the office as Tessa and General Florez shook hands outside the elevators. Lyall stood firm with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Tell me we're not going to take on a dictator as a client.”

“They're just talking.” Donna reminded him.

           “You don't talk for that long if you're not gonna take somebody on.”

“Well, you do if the elevator hasn't come.” Donna put a hand on Lyall’s arm. “She's just being polite. It doesn't mean she's gonna represent him.”

Outside, General Florez opened his arms and pulled Tessa in for a hug. She smiled and patted his back once before pulling away.

“ _That_ does.” Lyall unfolded his arms and violently pointed a finger towards the pair. He turned to Donna and growled, “Welcome to Tessa Reagan and Associates, El general. _Your_ delightful death squads are now _our_ delightful death squads.”

“The man does not have death squads….” Lyall looked at her with a stern face and raised an eyebrow. Donna’s face fell. “Does he?”

“We used to vote on this stuff!” Lyall sighed. The elevator doors opened and General Florez and his men took two elevtors down. Tessa waited until the doors were closed before returning to the office. “And now apparently, we don't even get to speak.”

“Donna, later in the morning, talk to the older son. Lyall, see if you can dig up any eyewitnesses at the restaurant.”

Tessa issued her orders as she walked past them to her office.

“So we're taking the case?” Lyall called after her, causing her to turn around.

“What?”

“Your good friend the general, we're taking him on as a client even though we didn't vote, even though the rest of us didn't have a say?”

Tessa held up her hand. “Don’t start with me, Lyall. I am not in the mood.”

“Fine.” Lyall waved his hand, momentarily backing down. Tessa was turning to leave again when Lyall asked another question, “Where’s Gabriel, then? Donna and I couldn’t get through to him. Do you think-”

“After what happened, I think he’s playing it smart. I _think_ he wants to keep his marriage. I _think_ he doesn’t know the entire story and until he does, he won’t act without information.” Tessa pulls out a pregnancy test from her pocket hand hands it to Lyall. “Cynthia Baxter is pregnant.”  

“Tessa-”

“I don’t want Gabriel involved in any of this until I talk to him. Until then, put in his vacation days for yesterday and today.”

**NEILSON-SHORT HOUSEHOLD**

**SUNDAY MORNING**

            Tessa rang the doorbell of a beautiful Victorian home, painted white with green accents. The green front door opened and Gabriel stood before her barefoot in a pair of old jeans and a polo shirt, the Sunday paper rolled up in his right hand. When Gabriel saw it was her, he almost shut the door again.

           “Gabriel-”

           “Blackmail, Theresa? You _really_ went behind my back on this one, didn’t you?” Tessa tried speaking, but Gabriel held up the newspaper to silence her. “Why, because my husband works for the guy? That’s all the more reason to _include_ me in whatever the hell you’re doing!”

          “Gabriel-”

          “At least one marriage should come out of this fiasco, don’t you think? Or are the pawns just collateral damage?”

          “I never blackmailed-”

          “Oh don’t give me that crap! We blackmailed someone last week.”

            “I never blackmailed _your_ husband or Michael. I wouldn’t do that to them.”

            Gabriel took a deep breath. He patted the newspaper on his leg. “Then what the hell happened?”

           “I don’t know! I have _no_ idea. We had a meeting on the books and the next minute Chris is accusing me of blackmail and calling it all off. I _never_ sent him anything, Gabriel. And if I had, I would let you know. Not because you two are married, but because you are my friend, because you are my second in command. I would _never_ go behind your back. Never!” Tessa took an unsteady breath. She wanted Gabriel to see just how much this was affecting her. “And for you to think so low of me….”

            “Tessa…” Gabriel looked guilty. He knew she was playing him a bit, but he also knew some of the hurt she was showing was true.

            Tessa waved him off. “Forget it, Gabriel. It’s fine. It’s over. Now you have both sides of the story; do with that as you will. Until then, I put in your vacation days for today, and yesterday.”

           Gabriel shifted his footing, confused. “Today? It's Sunday, Tess.”

          “I know.”

          “We don’t work on Sundays unless we already have a case. The Young and Harding cases cleared yesterday.”

          “We do have a case, actually, but I’m here for your husband.” Gabriel raise his eyebrow. “I'll be quick with him.”

          Gabriel gestured behind him with the newspaper. “I am trying to keep him from dropping dead of a heart attack. A heart attack brought on by people like you-”

          “I just need _five_ minutes.”

          “-coming in here and thinking he’s going to work on a Sunday. No. Chris doesn’t work on Sundays, Tess, not even for Cynthia Baxter. Sunday’s are his days off and it’s hard enough for him to keep it. Cynthia can wait till tomorrow.”

          Tessa pulled out a pregnancy stick from her pocket and held it up. “But her baby can’t.”

         Gabriel laid his forehead on the edge of the door. He closed his eyes and silently tapped his head repeatedly. After a moment, he opened his eyes and pulled back the door. “When my husband's dead, I'm blaming you.”

**BACKYARD GARDEN**

            Chris was pruning the roses in the back of the garden when Tessa walked up on the cobblestone path. Hearing the clacking of heels, he looked up. He shook his head with a sly smile on his face.

“I'm surprised Gabe let you in on a Sunday. Thought for sure Friday’s debacle would have earned you a door in the face.”

“Things are bad, Chris.”

“Already knew that-”

Tessa held up the same pregnancy test she showed Gabriel. She held it out for his to take. After confirming it was positive, he looked up at her expectantly.

“Should I be excited, have Gabriel start planning the baby shower?”

“It’s not mine, although I am flattered you think I have time to do so while cleaning up your guys’ mess. Cynthia Baxter is pregnant.” Chris hands her the test and goes back to his gardening. “I need to know if he maybe took precautions with her.”

Chris looked up. He tossed a handful of dead leaves to the ground. “You want to know if Michael wore condoms when he slept around? I don't know. I think that's _your_ area. Did he wear one with you?” He paused. “How much?”

“I could probably sell $10 million.”

“Five years.”

“Over three.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Chris effectively dismissed her. Tessa turned her back on him and began walking across the yard to the back door.

“Tessa,” Chris called to her. Chris stopped pruning long enough to say, “You and I aren't friends anymore. The only thing we have left is Gabriel. Don't come here again.”  

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

**LIVING ROOM**

Cynthia was on the couch, her elbows digging into her knees, her hands covering her mouth. “You told Christopher Neilson that I was pregnant.”

“Yes.”

“And he still won't let me see Michael?”

“Cynthia, I need you to focus.” Tessa placed a glass of water on the coffee table in front of her. She sat down on the arm of the couch beside her. “They're talking about $10 million dollars. That could buy you a lot. That could buy you a _life_.”

“I just think if you could get them to reconsider, if I…if I have a chance to sit with him for five minutes. I don't understand why this is happening!” Cynthia shot off the couch. She began pacing the floor back and forth. “Why they won't let me see him? I need a _moment_ , just a _moment_ to talk to him. If I had a moment, if we were alone-”

“Cynthia-”

“Just five minutes alone!” Cynthia shouted. Tears were streaming down her face. “How hard is that? I could – they could just they put me in a chair outside of his office, and I _wait_. I wait until he has a break, some kind of break in his schedule.”

“Cynthia, that isn't going to happen!” Tessa shouted back at her, temporarily losing her calm exterior. Her emotions that had been bubbling up inside of her came tumbling out. She stood up, standing square shouldered across from Cynthia.

“Don't you _understand_ that? He is the most powerful, unelected man on the planet, and you are a _threat_ to that power. You are a _threat_ to his business, to his money. You are never _ever_ going to be in the same room with Michael O’Rourke, much less alone with him ever again. So if you don't want money, you need to decide what you do _want_. And I am not asking for your fairy-tale hopes and your princess dreams. The fairy tale is _over_ , Cynthia. You have a child to consider. So I need to know what you want that is real.”

Tessa took a breath and let the dust settle around them for a moment. She asked, in a calm tone, “So what do you want? Do you want to keep this baby? Do you want to have an abortion? Do you want to give it up for adoption? What do you _want_?”

Cynthia released a shaky breath and wiped the tear tracks from her face whispering, “I want to keep this baby.”

“Okay,” Tessa nodded.

“And I want to tell the world what he did. He told me he _loved_ me. He told me to trust him, that he'd take care of me, and now he won't even take five minutes to…” Cynthia shook her head. Instead of quiet desperation, Tessa saw unrelenting fury. “They think I'm just gonna go away, just like that? I _trusted_ him. He should _burn_ for this!”

“Cynthia-”

“You're asking me what I want. I want you to _burn_ them all for this.”  

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

            Tessa’s elevator reached her floor. The doors opened with a ‘ding’ and she stepped out. Immediately, she wanted to step back in. US Attorney Sam Lynch was waiting in her lobby in gym sweats.

“Tessa, you look great!” Sam smiled at her. She ignored him and walked past. He followed her. “Uh, new lipstick? It's working.”

“Samuel,” Tessa drawled.

Sam jogged in front of her to hold open the door. As soon as they were in, he jogged in front of her again, this time to stop her.

“So you know the old guy who runs the newsstand on the corner two blocks from my place? I buy my paper and coffee there every day for 11 years. This place is my ritual, my personal landmark, and these vulture developers want to knock it down, and I want _you_ to save it.”

Tessa’s brows furrowed questioningly. She tilted her head and side stepped him, walking further into the room. He followed her right up until her office door.

“Horse trade or threaten or get it put on the _National_ Register of Historic Newsstands or _whatever_ it is you people do.”

Tessa shut her door, rather forcefully, in his face. Sam sighed and tossed up his hands. Lyall and Donna walked over.

“Tessa,” Sam shouted at her door. He turned to them. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got this,” Lyall said. He slowly put his hand on the door knob, testing if it was locked, before entering quietly. He shut the door behind him.

He saw her standing hunched over her desk, her shoulders and back shaking, her hands curled into fists. He kept his distance.

“What do you need?”

“Just one minute,” she sniffled.

Lyall nodded even though she couldn’t see him. He left the room and stood guard outside her door. He wouldn’t let anyone in to bother her until she was ready.    

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INCORPORATED**

**THE “IVORY TOWER”**

“Mr. Neilson,” Margot Creech, Christopher’s PA and secretary, said while knocking on his open door. “They're ready for you, sir.”

Chris nodded his head. He stood up from his desk, buttoning his suit jacket, and exited his office. He walked down the hall to the large glass conference room. Inside were nearly a dozen people. Chris only recognized two from his own staff.

“David,” Chris boomed as he walked into the room. “I don't have a lot of time.”

“Well, let's get right to it then.” David Howser stood from his seat at the conference table to introduce the team on the other side. “Chris, meet Sampson Berns. Sampson, Christopher Neilson.”

“O’Rourke's Chief of Staff needs no introduction.” Sampson said, holding out is hand in greeting. Chris accepted it.

Chris motioned for everyone to take their seats. He alone stood and the dead of the table. He commanded the room.

“I know that you've signed confidentiality agreements and been briefed on the sensitive nature of this meeting, but I'm going to take a moment to remind you that I will personally make sure you never ever work again within the borders of _this_ fine nation if you breathe a word or the edge of a word outside this room. Now I'm a busy man. Let's go.”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and took his seat. Sampson stood and launched into his presentation.

“When I'm investigating someone, I leave no stone unturned. I want to know where they come from. I want to know what they've done. Where do they go? Who did they see? Have they made mistakes? Do they have debts? Enemies? Do they drink, smoke, snort, shoot? If any one of them has so much as even a parking ticket, I will find out about it.”

While he was speaking, his assistant handed out a manila file to David and Chris. David opened his file and was shocked to see that it contained surveillance photos of those working at Tessa Reagan & Associates, along with various other documents.

“This group here, hiding a lot more than just parking tickets.”

Sampson opened his file and took out a photo of Theresa Reagan. She was standing at a podium in front of the press, her ruby red lips opened in mid-speech and perfectly French manicured finger pointing to her client standing beside her. Her face was oval shaped and beautiful in the extreme, her every feature was finely chiseled and delicate. Her eyes were large and the color of Freedman blue, accenting her cream blouse tucked into blue pencil skirt. Her head was a mass of chestnut waving hair, caught loosely to frame her face. Her skin was Irish cream fair against which the crimson glow of her cheeks with a strangely enhancing effect.

He placed the photo on the conference table.

“Let's start with Theresa Reagan.”  

**OFFICES OF TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

“Carolina Florez Cuban-born,” Donna began to presentation. She stood in front of the skyline window where she and Lyall had taped copious amounts of photos. “Boston-raised. She was a waitress at a Harvard bar when she met a cute undergrad named Benicio-”

“Or as I like to call him, the butcher of San Miguel,” Lyall interrupted.

“Lyall...” A warning sounded from behind the conference table. Tessa and Lyall turned in the seats to see Gabriel leaning against the open French doors. Tessa silently nodded to him before turning her eyes back to Donna. Gabriel took that as a cue for acceptance and took his seat at the table. Donna handed him a file.

“They fell in love, got married.” Donna continued. “He brought her back with him to his home country. They have three kids, lived happily ever after in their little dictatorship, until last night, when according to their oldest son Felipe-”

She pointed to Lyall. He pressed play on the speaker in front of him. They had recorded their interview with him.

“ _They were in the bathroom a long time. I went to check and then saw them out the back. The men they pushed them in a van. And I ran inside for help.”_

“Restaurant bathroom window was smashed. Glass everywhere. Signs of a struggle. But when I went around back,” Donna pointed to a picture of the extremely narrow alley that hung on the window.

“There's no way out of there,” Lyall said. “Not unless they had the world’s smallest van.”

“At least not how the kid says he saw it.” Tessa pointed to the photo of a woman in a black and white waitress uniform. “What about other witnesses?”  

Donna hit another button on the speaker.

 _“I didn't hear anything. All I know is they were gone, and the older kid was still here, freaked out.”_ The waitress said through a thick Yankee accent.

 _“Anything strange happen at the table?”_ Lyall asked

_“Mm just a normal lunch. She had a lot of iced tea. The little boy, cute, maybe 7? He played with one of those electronic game thingies.”_

_“What kind? What model? What year?”_

_“I-I don't know. It was white?”_

“So we basically we have nothing,” Gabriel fiddled with his pencil.

“This doesn't add up. We need to keep digging.” Tessa leaned back in her chair and corssed her arms. “Look for a motive. Political opposition, maybe or-”

Lyall’s computer started emitted a painfully high pitched sounds. Everyone covered their ears immediately and hollered at Lyall. He reached out his hand and clicked on the alert.

“What the hell was that?” Gabriel asked.

“Alert system.” Lyally muttered. He was furiously typing. “I got a signal.”

“What?”

“The kid's Gen 9 S.D. is Wi-Fi-enabled. Fanboy here tracked the I.P. address to the dynamic host configuration protocol assigned to the ARM9 processor and was then able to ping the server's geo-location vector.

“ _English_ , Ly.” Tessa rubbed her temples.

“I found the toy, which means I found _the boy_.”

“Go now. _Get her_. I’ll call my sister. See if she can get N.Y.P.D. to send backup. Don't go in alone.”

As she was giving orders, Gabriel and Donna were getting up and moving out.

**REAGAN FAMILY HOME**

**BAY RIDGE, BROOKLYN, NY**

            “Sorry I’m late,” Tessa shouted as she hurried through the front door. Everyone was already sitting around the dinner table, half-way done with the meal. “Meeting ran over.”

            “No worries, sweetheart. You made it.”

            Tessa went over to her father and leaned over to kiss his cheek. She did the same to her grandfather as she went into the kitchen to fix her plate.

            “What was so important that you had to drag my fiancé out of bed at three this morning?” Jamie’s fiancé, Sydney, raised her voice so that Tessa could hear her from the kitchen. She could also hear Jamie quietly trying to tell her to stop.

            “No, it’s fine. Thanks, Jamie.” Tessa came back over to the table.

            She squeezed Jamie’s shoulder as she sat down between Erin and Sydney. She poured herself a glass of wine while she spoke. She’s lied about her work often enough so this would be simple, she was just hoping Jamie’s face wouldn’t give it away.

           “I was drunk and freaking out about something. I called Jamie to come pick me up. He brought me home and made sure I was okay before he left.” She turned to Sydney with a glass of wine in her hand. “Sorry if he woke you up.”

           “How about we lay off of this for a while….” Sydney gently took Tessa’s wine glass from her hand and placed it between herself and Jamie. The rest of the table was snickering.

          “We learned about alcoholism in school,” Sean blurted out, causing everyone to erupt into laughter, including Tessa.

           “I am not an alcoholic, Sean.”

            “That’s what alcoholic’s say.”

            “You being your own boss, I though you didn’t work Sundays.” Linda asked.

            “Favor for a friend. He asked me to look into something for him. Promised me a rather expensive bottle of wine.” She threw the last part in so she could stick her tongue out at Sean and make a silly face.

            “That must be some bottle of wine to have me call for back-up at St. Mary’s,” Erin said curiously. She raised her eyebrow as she sipped her wine.

            “Why would you need to raid St. Mary’s?” Henry asked, equally confused. “All that’s there are nuns.”

            “And battered women,” Danny said around a mouthful of food. “It’s a woman’s shelter, too.”

            Tessa froze. She quietly put down her fork and left the table. She could vaguely hear someone calling her name, but she ignored it. She took her phone out of her purse and pulled up Gabriel’s contact.

            _“She wasn’t kidnapped. She ran away.”_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character Death

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INCORPORATED **

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

          Christopher Neilson double tapped a single surveillance photo of Lyall with two fingers. There was nothing else in Lyall’s file.

          It showed Lyall with short, tousled dusty brown hair; murky brown eyes squinting at the sun’s glare as he walked with his hands in his tan cargo pants pockets. A black Misfits band shirt showcased his firm biceps and black and white, yet intricately designed sleeve tattooed arms that began at his wrists, disappeared underneath his shirt, and picked back up at his neck, stopping just below his Adam’s apple. He had two face piercings on the left side of his face – a black steel lip ring and an eyebrow rod.

         “What about this Lyall kid? Is this really all there is?”

         “Well, Lyall is obviously not his real name and we’re not entirely sure he’s a kid.” Sampson Berns said. He stood to the left of Chris at the conference table. “CIA denies knowing him, but they also sent three agents over to my office to encourage me to stop checking into his background. He may not look like much, a bit young looking, but clearly he's one of theirs. Other than that, he is a mystery.”

          “Do you have a guess?” David asked.  

          “I’ve met the boy,” Chris said, starring down Lyall’s photo. “He doesn’t seem like much. A nerdy computer kid that lives in his office and _absolutely_ does drugs.”

          “No doubt, but my guess is that if you meet him in a dark alley while on Theresa Reagan’s bad side, you're done.”

          Chris picks up the photo. “That is unless Tessa yanks on the leash before he bites.”

          “You think she can control him?” David Howser asked from where he sat on Chris’ right.

          “I think she’s the one pulling all their strings.” Sampson pointed to the photo in Chris’s hand, “Especially this one.”

          Sampson turned to another file his associate opened for him. “Next contestant is Donna Martin.”

          Her photo was taken while exiting her yoga class - red hair twisted into a functional mess atop her head, cornflower blue eyes squinting in laughter, her hourglass figure masked by flowing grey tank top and bright yoga floral capris.  

          “Married four years to Senator Calvin Whitney, the youngest son of former Virginia governor James Whitney. She left him when he allegedly beat and raped her in a drunken rage. Divorce proceedings are full of the ugly details. It's all in your files.”

          Sampson closed Donna’s file and his associate handed him another open one. It was a photo of a handsome man that appeared to be Rob Lowe. He had a strong square jaw and prominent cheekbones, black hair, and thick, black Clark Kent-esque glasses covering the clear grey eyes that held small flecks of brown. He was sitting down for lunch at an outdoor café, dressed in a sharp black suit, leaning back in his wire chair and smoking a cigar.

           “Gabriel Short-”

           “Skip it.” Chris firmly stated. “I’m married to the man, I know enough about him. One of us in this marriage needs a conscience.”

           “Did he really suffer a nervous breakdown in the middle of defending the class action suit against Bromquest?” David asked while thumbing through the file.

           “The chemical manufacturer that poisoned all those kids in West Virginia?” Sampson clarified, finding the paper in Gabriel’s file. “Yeah, spent two months in a facility to recover before quitting the firm.”

           “Close it.” Chris stated firmly, standing up to discontinue conversation. “These people, Tess fixed 'em. That makes them loyal. They'll die for her. I need more, something I can work with. Do better.”

           “They did find one thing.” David said. He waved to one of his interns outside the conference room to enter. The squirrely college kid quickly shuffled into the room, keeping his head down, to hand David a red file. “Remember when Tessa came back for a short stint to help with the Obama campaign? Turns out she had an affair with someone. A married someone. We don't have a name yet, but we will. Give me a day or two-”

           “That's not useful to us,” Chris waved his hand dismissively.

           “Uh, excuse me.” David looked to Sampson, utterly confused. “It's a potential _gold mine_ , because other than that, Theresa Reagan is purer than the Mother Teresa she was named after.”

          “David, I have a country to back-door run. I'm not gonna stand around and debate with you. It's not useful to us. _Move_. _On_.”

           David opened his mouth to protest even more, but Chris banged his hand on the table, effectively silencing him.

          “Move on.”

**CHURCH**

**COMMON ROOM**

            Caroline agreed to meet with Donna and Gabriel so long as a nun was present. The nun watched over the children while Caroline talked off to the side.

            “I knew it. I _knew_ he would send someone. I was so stupid. I wasn't thinking.” Caroline blamed herself. “I took Paola and Manuel to the bathroom, and I saw the back door, and I just started thinking, _this is it_. My security men are at the bar. This is my chance. So I took it.”

             “Did he hurt you?” Gabriel asked.  

             “No!” Caroline was emphatic, like such an idea was impossiable.

             “Then why run?”  

              “I don't love him anymore. 15 years ago I married a good man, a _kind_ man. A man who looked at his country and dreamed of ways to make it better. But now Benicio thinks everyone's out to get him. You disagree with him, you disappear. You _don't_ tell a man like that you're unhappy. You don't ask a man like that for a divorce. You don't leave a man like that.”

             “Your oldest son he said you were kidnapped.” Donna stated.

             “When I was in the bathroom wondering if I could do it, he came to look for me. And when he saw me, he knew.”

            “He wouldn't come with you.”

            Carolina’s eyes began to water. Gabriel handed her a tissue from his pocket. “He loves his father, and I couldn't ask him to choose. I don't know, it just all happened so quickly. I guess you have to take me back to my husband.”

            “No,” Donna said before Gabriel opened his mouth. She placed her hand on Carolina’s shoulder. “We don’t.”

            Thirty minutes later, Gabriel was helping Carolina with the children. They were walking out to the car when Donna’s cell chirped. She pulled back from Gabriel thinking it might be a text from Tessa. Instead, it was from Gregory Williams.

_“I won't be asking you about C.B. anymore. I won't use you for my story. I don't need to.”_

            Immediately, she dialed his number. She launched at him as soon as he picked up. “Why?”

_“Why what?”_

            “Why don't you need to use me for a story about C.B.?”

           “ _Because I have another source.”_

**STRAFFORD HOTEL**

            Donna and Gabriel stood at the counter while Carolina and the children waited in the lobby. Carolina was nervous, fidgeting and constantly looking around.

            “Hi,” Donna smiled at the attending. “My sister and her kids need a room for the night. Do you have something with two double beds?”

             After checking the computer, the attendant replied, “Yes, we do.”

             “Perfect,” Donna handed him her card. Gabriel grabbed her elbow and pulled her away to whisper in her ear.

             “This is insane. We need to tell Tessa we have her.”

             “We will tell her. We just won't tell her until tomorrow or the next day at the latest as soon as we get her asylum.” Just then, Tessa’s name light up Gabriel’s phone screen. He was about to answer it, but Donna put her hand over it. “She's fried, Gabe. She's not wearing a white hat anymore.”

             “I'm not lying.”

             “Fine,” Donna took his phone out of his hand and answered. “Tessa? Hey, it's me. Gabe's putting gas in the car. Yeah, she was at the shelter. Pretty clear she wasn't kidnapped. We tried to talk to her, but they've closed their doors for the night. Nobody can come or go. We'll pick her up tomorrow. Yeah. Oh, side note, Gregogry Willaims texted me earlier. He said he had another source on the Cynthia Baxter story. No. He wouldn’t say. Yeah, I’ll break it off in the morning. Good night.”

             She hung up the phone and handed it back to him with a cheerful smile. “There. Done and done.”

             She turned her back on him and walked to the counter.    

**LULLWATER BRIDGE**

**PROSPECT PARK, BROOKLYN**

           “You called me away from Sunday dinner.” Tessa called out to the man standing in the middle of the bridge as she walked up. “This had better be important, David.”

           David turned to her, concern visibly showing in the dusk light. “Theresa Reagan, what did you do?”

           “What are you talking about?”

           “Christopher called in Sampson Berns on you.”

           Tessa chuckled. “Sampson Berns is a short, _short_ man.”

           “So was Napoleon, but he still did a lot of damage!” David waved his hand for emphasis.

           “Why are you telling me this, David?”

            David leaned in closer, letting his worry lace his voice. “If you can just tell me what's going on, I might be able to help you. I don't want to feel like I'm betraying my own, but sooner or later, I have to fall in line.”

             Tessa took a moment to consider her options. When she was finished, she smiled at David and pulled out her cell phone. She pressed a button on speed dial, and as it rang she locked eyes with David.

             “Theresa Reagan for Christopher Neilson,” David rolled his eyes and wiped his palm over his mouth. He shook his head while taking a step back, in disbelief that she wouldn’t confide in him. Tessa held her hand out to calm David. “You want to play hardball? Forget the money. We booked "20/20" instead. We're sitting down with Diane Sawyer.”

             She hung up the phone and pocketed it in her jacket. She moved in to kiss David’s cheek.

             “Tessa-”

            “You take care, David.” She smiled and turned away, leaving him with more questions than when he came to her with.    

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INCORPORATED**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

**MONDAY**

            Michael O’Rourke was reading a report on East Asian markets, feet on his desk, sipping coffee from a paint splattered ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug his children made for him a handful of Christmases ago. Christopher slowly entered the office, only drawing a flicker of attention from Michael.

            “You looked worried.”

            “That’s because I am, sir.”

            “Don’t call me ‘sir’, Chris. No one else is around-”

            “Cynthia Baxter is pregnant.”

              Michael froze in his chair. He placed the report on his desk and turned his chair to face Christopher, who was slid down on to the couch in the corner of the room.

              “What?”

                 “The good news is Cynthia doesn't want your money. She wants publicity. Also good you don't have to worry about that sex tape,” Christopher leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, “because who needs a sex tape when you've got a fetus full of D.N.A.? It's a win-win.”

                “That's not my baby.” Michael shot out of his chair. What was pissing him off almost as much as their situation was Christopher’s attitude about it.

                “You just keep practicing that line.” Chris smiled. “You're gonna be saying it a lot.”

                Michael stood over Christopher, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared. “Okay, what do we do? Next step? How do we fix this?”

                Christopher chuckled. “I-I don't know.”

                “Chris! I know you're upset, but we have to game plan this. What’s next?”

               “What's next?” Those two words caught Christopher’s attention. His flippant attitude tones down and he becomes more serious; however, he remains in his relaxed position on the couch.

               “Okay, here's what happens next - you resign from your company and all governmental contracts and relations. _Or_ Cynthia goes on TV, tells her sad, sordid tale, there are hearings, maybe a trial if Tessa gets _really_ creative, and you're _forced_ to publically resign from office before your company crumbles.

             Your company’s Vice President, a moronic, right-wing nut job who seems to not quite understand that evolution isn't an idea but an _actual fact_ , but who cares? The scary states we won Obama in the election will have a party now that their Grand Wizard is running things. I'm pretty sure I'll never see a _legal_ marriage and women will lose their right to choose once she’s backing the _wrong_ people, but hey, whatever. We’re all Republicans after all.

             You'll leave in disgrace, move to Montana or some other shit-hole state, keep a low profile for a while. Then some fancy publishing house will pay you a fortune for a book, which you'll write, only it won't talk about what everyone really wants to know about. It won't talk about your sordid affair with an Ivory Tower aide. It'll talk about policy and your thoughts on the economy, and it won't _sell_ because no one cares about your thoughts on policy and the economy anymore because you're not powerful and influential anymore. What you are now is a _joke_ on "Letterman."

             Catherine, a lovely woman, ambitious and strong, and quite wealthy in her own right. She's not gonna be circa 1998 Hillary on this. No, sirree. This is the 21st century. She's gonna leave you and she's gonna take your children with her. And everyone will applaud her, from the religious right to the women's groups, because you're a philandering pig who had a child out of wedlock. And we all know it's true because we heard the tape! You'll be alone in your house in Montana - do you like Montana? Doesn’t matter because you’ll be listening to old records and telling the same story over and over again to the poor sap not smart enough to get away.

             Then one day, about, oh, three or four years from now, you'll step into your bathroom, take out that revolver your father gave you after boot camp. You'll put it in your mouth and you'll blow the back of your skull off. Oprah's retired now, so I guess _I_ have to do a post-funeral interview with Barbara Walters. She's nice.”

             Chris jumped off the couch and clapped his hands. Michael was still standing beside the couch, hands in his pockets, looking down at where Christopher sat.

            “But, you know, I could be wrong.” He put his hand on the door and yank it open, chuckling, “But how often does that happen?”  

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

             Tessa and Cynthia sat on the couch while Gabriel sat in an arm chair across from them. Cynthia knew full well who he was married to and objected several times to his involvement. Tessa promised her that Gabriel would only be handling the planning, their game plan. Anything more would result in him being divorced and out of a job; two things neither Gabriel nor Tessa wanted.

             “We'll be filing a petition to determine the paternity of your child in New York superior court, after which there will be a hearing and a D.N.A. test. The petition is public, which is going to set things in motion.”

            Gabriel reached over the coffee table between them to hand Cynthia a copy of the petition.

            “That same day you'll be taping an interview with Diane Sawyer for "20/20."”

            “Diane Sawyer?” Cynthia asked. Her face betrayed her nerves.

            “Don't worry.” Tessa reached out and laid a hand on Cynthia’s arm. “We'll be doing mock interviews to prepare you for the kinds of questions you will be asked. We don't want any surprises.”

             “And if you're properly prepared, you've got nothing to be afraid of,” Gabriel added with a reassuring smile.

             “You need to call your parents and all your friends. Warn them about what's going to happen. Your parents will want to check into a hotel when the interview airs because their street will be chock-full of reporters, and they won't be well-behaved.” Tessa moved closer and lowered her voice to sound more comforting.

            “I know this seems scary, I know it's overwhelming, but we are talking about Michael O’Rourke, a man that got the first African-American President elected just so he could run a small gumshoe government in the nation’s backyard. You want to burn down his house; you're gonna have to burn down your own as well.”

             A small knock came at the door. Lyall stuck his head in.

            “Tess.”  

**WAITING ROOM**

U.S. Attorney Sam Lynch sat on a comfortable couch in the private waiting room across from the kitchen. He put his smoothie down on a coaster and hopped off the couch when he was Lyall walk into the room, followed by an annoyed Tessa.

            Lyall safely retreated into his office as Sam started speaking.

“Clearly, you were busy before. It was obviously not the right time to ask for a favor, but I do have a favor to ask, and keep in mind the massive favor deficit between us. I’m cashing in one of the many favors for you to help a friend of mine-”

Tessa took Sam’s hand in both of hers and held it gently, stroking the back with her thumb. “Sam?”

           “Yes?” He was growing suspicious. She doesn’t act sweet unless she’s in an excellent mood or she wants sex. Both of which are great, but neither one get him what he wants.  

           “I did not answer you when you asked me about this earlier. That was rude. This time, I will be more _clear_ – I have far more important things to worry about right now than the fate of the crappy newsstand you buy your morning coffee at.” She dropped his hand. “I do not have time for this or for you.”

**STRAFFORD HOTEL**

Donna was on her lunch break. She didn’t have much time to check in on Carolina before she needed to get back. She walked up to the attendant’s counter and luckily the same man from last night was working again this morning.

             “Hi. Excuse me. I checked someone in yesterday my sister and her two young children, room 402?”

             “Okay, uh, let's see.” He turned to his computer and typed. After a moment he looked up. “Room 402 is vacant.”  

             “Shit.”

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**TESSA’S OFFICE**

            Lyall was lounging on the waiting room couch, eating a Granny Smith apple when Donna came in. A mixture of worry and fear was spread across her face. Lyall whistled low when she passed him.

            “You in trouble.”

            She could hear Tessa speaking in Spanish as Donna did the walk of shame down the hallway lined with military guards towards the conference room.

            “Oh, Donna, good.” Tessa smiled cheerfully when Donna opened the French doors. She, Gabriel, and General Benecio Florez were standing in the middle of the room chatting happily. “I was just telling the general that it was you and Gabriel that found Señora Florez.”

            General Florez walked over to shake her hand with both of his. “I cannot thank you enough. There were moments when I thought I would never see them again. _Thank you_.”

            “Y-You're welcome.” Donna managed to fake a smile.

           “We think the kidnappers may have been allied with the general's political enemies possibly the exile community.” Tessa filled Donna in. “Anyway, thank goodness whoever it was lost their nerve, dropped Carolina and the children off at that shelter, and now here they are, safe and sound.”

           “Safe and sound,” Donna repeated, a bite of contempt underneath her voice.

**LATER**   

           Donna was aggressively tearing down the photos and documents they gathered down from the cityscape window. Tessa angrily gripped the back of a chair as she watched Donna.

           “You had no right to do what you did.”

           “No right?” Donna yelled, spinning around. “No right?!”

           “That woman was not our client.”

           “She had _one shot_ , and you took it away from her.”

            “She chose to marry that man. She chose to have children with him!”

           “Oh, and that makes it your call to decide whether or not-”

            “And now, 20 years later, she wakes up and realizes she's sleeping next to a monster and she wants out?”

             That angered Donna. As Tessa was talking, Donna was passionately yelling over her. Their arguments ran over each other.

            “Are you kidding me? That's what you did for me.”

            “She fell in love with the wrong man.”

            “No, you made the wrong call. When I wanted to leave Calvin-”

            “She put herself in an impossible position.”

            “When I wanted to leave Calvin-”

            Tessa pushed the chair away. This time, she was the one yelling. “I did what I had to do for my client. I made a tough call. You don't like it, Donna? Too bad! It is my name on that door, not yours!”

           “When I wanted to leave Calvin!” Donna threw all the photos she had taken down at Tessa. They cascaded to the floor at Tessa’s feet. Donna’s voice wavered with repressed emotions, her face covered in betrayal.

           “Don't talk to me about _tough calls_ and names on the door. That woman needs us. And I don't know what's going on with you or what's happened to you, but I know that you have your stuff that you don't talk about. I _know_ that. But something's going on with you, and I'm sorry about that. I am,” Donna stomped over to be inches away from Tessa’s face, “but that doesn't mean that you get to stop being _Theresa Edith Reagan_. When Calvin raped me and fractured three of my ribs and broke my jaw and threw me out into the snow in my nightgown, _Theresa Edith Reagan_ took a tire iron and broke his kneecap and then Theresa Reagan got me the best divorce attorney in the state and got me out of that marriage. That's what Theresa Reagan does. That's who _you_ are. _You_ are the gladiator. I would _gladly_ follow you over a cliff. But _you_ gotta show up. You gotta be a _warrior_. You don't get to pick and choose when the _real_ Theresa Reagan walks through that door. You made the _wrong_ _call_.”

**O.A.S. CONFERENCE**

**UNITED NATIONS BUILDING, MANHATTAN**

**MONDAY EVENING**

            The Florez family was comfortably lounging in a private room, listening to El General’s speech on the television.

             “ _We have withstood lies spread by powerful media outlets and the permanent threat of this capitalist empire. We have withstood the very naked disrespect for the sovereignty of our nation.”_

             Carolina was looking fore longingly out the curtained window to overlooking the East River when the thick oak double doors flew open. There, gallantly walking in without fear was Theresa Reagan, accompanied by Donna and Lyall.

             “If you still want asylum, we can get it for you. I have a car downstairs waiting, ready to take you and your family to homeland security, but if you want to go, we have to leave right now, this minute.” Tessa was speaking so fast, trying not to waste precious time breathing, she feared Carolina might not catch what Tessa was saying. “Do you still want asylum?”

            Carolina held her infant daughter closer to her chest. “My husband's security men are down the hall. They won't let me leave the building.”

            “We've got it covered.” Lyall reassured her.    

**HALLWAY**

            In the hallway outside, Gabriel was encircled by a group of five soldiers under General Florez’s command.

           “If she wants to go, you can't stop her. Now we can talk I.N.A. Code 101 section A-42. You guys familiar with that?”

           Gabe could see the soldiers looking around to each other. That had no clue what he was talking about. He’s got them.

           “Okay, let me break it down for you. Asylum given for foreign-born spouses subject to persecution. Or well-founded fear of persecution on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or as pertains to our case here political opinion. So you can object, petition, protest, make yourself a nuisance all you want, but in case you haven't noticed, she's on American soil, otherwise known as you have no jurisdiction here.”    

**LOUNGE**

            Donna was keeping an eyes on the TV that was live streaming the O.A.S Conference. General Florez had just finished his speech and was stepping off the podium amid a smattering of polite applause.

           “Tess, we need to move now.”

          “Okay,” She turned to Lyall on her left. “Lyall, baby.”

          Carolina handed Lyall the baby. “Thank you.”

          She grabbed the baby bag and rushed over to her son sleeping on the couch. He was stirring slightly because of all the commotion. “Manuel, wake up. Manuel, we have to go. Come on.”

           “Lyall!” Tessa softly shouted when she turned to see Lyall still in the back of the room.

           Lyall was bending down carefully to retrieve something off the floor. “I dropped the pacifier.”

           “Take your toy,” she handed a toy train to Manuel. Lyall gave Caroline back her baby. “Thank you. Come on. Felipe.”

          Felipe didn’t move. He stood still beside the complementary pastries laid out on the table. He was glancing back and forth between his mother and the door.

          “Cariño.” Carolina pleaded with her son.

           It was too late. When Felipe decided to go with his mother, General Florez’s soldier’s opened up the heavy doors. He stood angrily between his family and the door, his soldiers standing behind him.

          “General Florez,” Tessa greeted with a smile. “What a wonderful speech. I was just coming by to congratulate you.”

          Tension built in the room. The general was not buying a word that came out of Tessa’s mouth.

          “No,” Carolina placed her hand on Tessa’s shoulder. She walked in front of Tessa, to protect the woman that would be her savior. “Benicio, she was helping me to leave you. There was no kidnapping. There were no men. There was no van. I left on my own. I left you because I _wanted_ to leave you. I left you because I don't love you anymore.”

           General Florez closed his eyes, hanging his head to contain his emotions. He sliently nodded his head and whispered under his breath, “Fine…fine. Then leave. I cannot keep you here.”

           When he looked up, there was no mercy in his eyes. “But you're not taking the children. They're coming home with me.”

            “Benicio, please-”

             “No, Carolina, mira!” He cut across her. “No vas a condenar a mis hijos . Para vivir en este país sin que yo haga nada al respecto. Este juego se ha acabado. Ahora dame mi hija. _[You’re not going to condemn my children. To live in this country without me doing anything about it. This game is over. Now give me my daughter.]”_

            General Florez stepped forward and took his daughter out of his wife’s arms as she wept, sobbing, “No. No. No. No.”

           When Paola was in her father’s arm, she too began to cry. Carolina collapsed to her knees on the floor, hand over her womb, crying out, “No! No!”  

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS INCORPORATED**

**CHRISTOPHER NEILSON’S OFFICE**

**TUESDAY MORNING**

           “The way I see it,” Michael announced as he louly came in, shutting the door softly behind him. He wanted Christopher’s full attention. “All roads lead back to Cynthia Baxter. She's saying we had an affair. She's saying she's carrying my child. Without her, there's nothing but that tape.”

            Michael unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down on Christopher’s black leather couch. It wasn’t as comfortable as the one in Michael’s office, but a couch was a couch.

            “Without her,” Michael continued, “that tape is just a guy who sounds vaguely like me. There's no proof. Nobody even takes that tape seriously without it being vouched for, which means our problem is Cynthia Baxter, and she's not _our_ problem. She's a kid. Our _real_ problem is Theresa Reagan.”

            “You realize-”

            “I built this company from the ground up to help people, to change this country for the better. I will not let this _child_ drag my name and my company through the mud for a quick buck and fifteen minutes of fame. She will not take this company away from me.”

            Christopher released a breathe he didn’t know he was holding and leaned back dramatically in his chair. He tossed his pen on his desk. “About damn time, Mike.”

           “About damn time.”

**O.A.S. CONFERENCE**

**UNITED NATIONS BUILDING, MANHATTAN**

**OUTSIDE**

          “General Florez!” Tessa shouted from the sidewalk. The general was leaving the building, escorted by his security. “General Florez, you need to reconsider.”

           General Florez ordered his men to stop. The encircled him protectively, leaving only a small gap for Tessa to talk to him through.

           “You know that the Hague Convention guarantees that custody must be decided by the parents' _home_ country, right? Right?”

           “Yes.”

            “Yes!”

            General Florez began to move again, but Tessa stopped him by grabbing his arm. One of the men grabbed her arm and forcefully removed it while another drew his gun and pointed it her. Tessa knew this was creating a scene, but she needed his attention. And if need be, the attention of the world. She needed to make her mistake right. General Florez ordered his men to stand down, looking around at the curious bystanders watching them.

            “I know she's your wife, I know she's the _mother_ of your children, and I know she seems weak now, but she is smart, she is powerful. And smart, powerful women like Carolina they don't curl up and hide when they've been wounded. They _strike back_ by writing memoirs and appearing on talk shows and at benefits and on red carpets; talking about women's rights in the developing world and how babies were _ripped_ from her arms by a ruthless dictator who can't run a family, much less a _country_.”

           Tessa took a risk by stepping through the general’s soldiers to get closer to him, making her threat all the more real to him.

           “And then one day, out of nowhere, she's not just the mother of your children anymore. She's a _hero_. And people everywhere, here and in your country, people love a hero, general. People rise up and _fight_ for a hero. And I will make it my personal mission that the rest of the world is behind them when they do. So you need to tread _very_ carefully here, because what you do today may determine your political survival. This woman can either be the mother of your children or the face of your opposition. Now which would you prefer?”    

**HOTEL**

**EVENING**

           General Florez agreeded to his wife’s terms. Not only would Tessa be handeling the divorce, but Carolina and the children will remain in America. Now that the conference was over, the general must return home. Alone.

           He was saying his goodbyes to his eldest son, Felipe, as they walked to the car.

          “Nos vamos de pesca este verano en Italia. Sólo los dos de nosotros. _[We’ll go fishing this summer in Italy. Just the two of us.]”_

          With tears streaking his face, Felipe stood tall and offered his father a salute. General Florez returned it swiftly before getting into his car, a defeated man. Felipe watched the black SUV caravan leave before walking back to his mother and siblings. Tessa stood off to the side.

          This didn’t make up for all the bad choices she’s made lately, but at the very least she’s saved a mother the pain of losing her children.    

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

**U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE, US DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE**

**201 VARICK ST.**

            Tessa was sitting provocatively on the edge of Sam’s desk, legs crossed and a bottle of really good wine in her hands. She could tell Sam was just on his way out for the night, but stepped out for something.  

           “Hello,” Sam drawled, confused, as he walked into his office. They didn’t leave on the best terms last time they saw each other. He knew Tessa never apologized, so this couldn’t be it.

          “Hello,” Tessa drawled back with a smile. As Sam sat down in his office chair, Tessa spun slightly to the right to face him. Her long legs gently brushed his.

         “Dennis and Katherine Mahoney emigrated from County Cork, Ireland, to New York City, New York in the summer of 1860, just in time for the Civil War. They started with nothing and built an empire selling news at the front. And in 1973, their great-granddaughter Margaret Mahoney sold her family newsstand chain for $25 million; however, she kept one for herself - one to sell to one of her employees, Kiyong Kim, who'd also been working at Mahoney News since immigrating to New York from Busan, South Korea, also with _nothing_.”

         Tessa leaned forward and began to untie Sam’s tie with nimble fingers as she spoke softly to him.

         “Kiyong Kim learned English at that newsstand. He became a U.S. citizen at that newsstand. Eventually, he became the owner of that newsstand because Mahoney News is everything that makes this country great. It would be a crime against not only the city, but the nation to knock it down for greed and profit. Mr. Kim's got a news crew showing up at 2:30 tomorrow for the 5:00 news and an 800-word human interest story in the "New York Times" and “Washington Post”, which comes out Thursday.”

        “Do you ever actually apologize to anyone?” Sam smiled timidly.  

        “I just did.”  

        Cupping his face in her soft hand, Tessa lowered her mouth to his, slowly, deliberately. He could have pulled back, but he didn’t move. He held his breath in anticipation as time suspended. Then her lips touched his, soft and tantalizing at first, sweet and warm.

        She pulled back, running her fingers over his jaw line. She got off the desk and walked out the door. She never looked back. Sam sat in his chair, finger over his lips, smiling.

**OUTSIDE**

Christopher was waiting for Tessa outside the D.O.J building, leaning against black sedan with his arms crossed smugly over his chest and a box of blue files at his feet. When Tessa saw him, she stopped dead on the sidewalk. She looked around; she wouldn’t go near him if he hand his people with him. Then again, he wasn’t stupid enough to try anything in front of a federal building.

           “Chris.”

          “Don’t worry, this won't take long.” He nudged the box with his foot. “Let's see, Donna Martin…does her ex-husband know where she is because he’s been looking for her? This fella Lyall, his file reads like ‘Helter Skelter,’ a real page-turner,” he chuckled, “and that's just the parts that haven't been redacted.”

          “Nice show, Chris.” Tessa smiled, showing she wasn’t afraid. “Very scary.”

         "This is two days' work, and I'm a little worried about all the trees that I'm gonna have to kill to print out the rest of the dirt I will find.”

           “You _want_ to go nuclear?” Tessa took a threatening step forward. “I have that option, too. You should see the size of the mushroom cloud that's going to go up when Michael is hit with the paternity suit for Cynthia's baby. It's gonna make our "20/20" interview look like a _hug_. Just finishing up some paperwork.” She fished out a document from her tote on her arm. She held it out to him. “I'm going to need some blood.”

         “Bah,” he waved his hand. He pushed himself off of the car and took the document from her, reading it over. “I really thought I trained you better. You haven't even filed the paternity suit yet. I expected that days ago!”

         “You seem awful chipper about all this, Christopher.”

         “I am. I am.” Christopher smiled, laughing. “I'll tell you why. I'm a workaholic, and my sweet hypocritical husband doesn't let me work on Sundays, unless there's a war. Which is why I _hate_ Sundays and I really _hate_ to garden. So you can see why I'd be excited, because there is, in fact, a war. There's a bloody, scary war starting right now.”

         “You and I are going to war?” Tessa wagged her finger between herself and Christopher. “That's what you want? Fine.”

          “Oh, no! I'm sorry. I wasn't clear.” Christopher continued to laugh. Within a moment, all humor fell from his face except a wicked gleam in his eyes. “This isn't _my_ war. You know who sent me here? The president and CEO of that very powerful and politically influential company sent me here to your boyfriend’s office to deliver these piles of dirt. I'm not the general. I'm not the bad guy. I'm just an errand boy who doesn't have to _garden_ anymore. Michael Fitzgerald O’Rourke has declared war on you, Theresa, and he does so with the full force of the Ivory Tower and the legion of men and women who work in the United States Government under _our_ thumb. May God have mercy on your soul.”

          Christopher turned on his heel and got into his car, driving away with the box of blue files still sitting on the curb and the petition for blood in his suit pocket.    

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

It was late. Too late for a meeting like this. Lyall was already in his Harry Potter Hogwarts pajamas; both Gabe and Donna had just gotten home when Tessa called them back in. It was late and they were all tired.

            Tessa stood at the head of the table, her three friends sitting around the conference table. She held onto the back of the chair for support. What she was about to ask of them would take all the strength she had left. 

            “I know I've been asking a lot of you all, asking you to trust me. And I know that hasn't always been easy or fair and sometimes I am wrong. But we are about to go forward with Cynthia Baxter's case. Going up against the Ivory Tower is the biggest thing we've ever done. It will be _hard_. It will be _mean_. It will be _personal_. And we will not make a dime out of it. But you don't have to do this because I say so, not this time. You have to decide for yourselves.”

           She looked around the table at each and every one of them, but stayed on Gabriel longer.

           “So let's vote on it.”

           “Yes.” Lyall said, the full force of his loyalty to her in is voice.    

           Donna smiled. “Over a cliff.”  

           Gabriel shook his head slowly. “I will not lie to my husband. I love you, Tessa, but I love him more.”

           “I understand,” Tessa whispered. Lyall and Donna were about to say something to start a fight, but Gabriel held up his hand.

           “I will stick with you, through thick and thin, always have and always will. But this fight…I’ll only be your go-between. Nothing _more_. Nothing _less_. In this war consider me Switzerland.”

           “All right then.” Tessa softly nodded. “We go to war.”

**THERESA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

            Cynthia was curled up in a blanket on Tessa’s couch, watching coverage of President Barak Obama’s speech at the O.A.S Conference.

_“It is a great honor for us to host this meeting in Washington once again. We're grateful for the reminder that this new world of ours America, North and South is more than an accident of geography. We, the free people of the Americas, are bound not only by a shared history, But by a common aspiration.”_

           A gloved black hand jutted out from behind Cynthia and clamped tightly over her mouth, muffling her gasps and screams. She reached behind her, clawing and fighting the strong arms. One arm wrapped around her throat, placing it in the crook of his elbow, and applied pressure. The other continued to cover her screams.

_“Freedom. Dignity. Progress.”_

          The man held her down long enough to unroll a section of silver duct tape and wrap it around her head to cover her mouth. It freed his hand to grab her neck with both hands and pull her over the back of the couch.

_"But I am sorry to tell you that our work is not finished. For as long as some of our brothers and sisters still live under the tyranny of dictators, we must not resign ourselves to the status quo.”_

         The man crossed her arms over her chest and sat on them to immobilize her. The weight of his body kept her from struggling too much. He pulled a syringe of amber liquid from his pocket. He removed the cap with one thumb as his other hand pulled her left foot up to him. He held it tightly to his chest to steady it while he brought the needle down in the webbing beside her big toe. After a few fitful seconds, she stopped moving.

        She was dead.

_"Democracy is your destiny.”_

       The man left her body on the floor while he went around the living room to collect Cynthia’s purse and cell phone. He dumped them into his black backpack.

_"I call on my fellow leaders to stand together and to speak with one voice loud, clear, and strong.”_

        The man went back to Cynthia’s body. He knelt down and picked her up.

_“So General Florez, President Chavez, and President Castro all those who would seek to squash individual rights and freedoms, may hear us.”_

          As silently as he had come in and snuffed out a young woman’s life and that of her unborn child, he was gone again. No trace of his being there except for Cynthia’s absence.

_“Your time has passed.”_

 


	10. Chapter 10

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

**TUESDAY NIGHT**

“Answers, people.” Theresa Reagan demanded as she walked back into the living room, Lyall right on her heels. “We need answers, and time is of the essence.”

“Her phone's gone and her purse. She ran away. You told her she was gonna have to go on TV, she freaked out, and she ran away.” Donna Martin gestured around her, holding cards of the fingerprints she’s collected. “And I gotta say, if this is a ‘crime scenes’, it's pretty clean. No broken locks, no signs of struggle, and I'm not finding any prints aside from yours and Cynthia's.”

“There's someone watching you.” Lyall spoke up. He was standing in the back of the living room, peering through the blinds of the window that faced the street

“What?”

“Your trash is gone, and it's not trash day, and there's a sedan parked across the street civilian plates, tinted windows.”

Tessa rushed to the windows. He was right, a dark sedan was parked across the street on the red fire line. She couldn’t see inside because of the dark tinted windows. She turned away to Lyall.

“What about Cynthia, Lyall?”

“Whoever it was came up through the service elevator, picked the lock on the back door, sedated her, taped her up, got her in a duffel bag. In and out, probably seven minutes, six if they were quick.

Donna stared at him in amazement and shock. She knew Lyall had secrets, ones only Tessa was allowed to know. She thought they were dark secrets, but she never imaged that would be this dark. Not thinking about Cynthia, the only question running through her mind was ‘Who was Lyall?’.

“How do you know?” Donna asked tentatively.

“That's how I would do it.”

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

**U.S. ATTORNERY’S OFFICE**

Samuel Lynch was writing out briefs on his case when Tessa stormed in, pushing open his office door.

“My secretary has a standing order to stop you from walking in here.” He craned around Tessa to shout out the open door, “Alyssa, you're fired.”

“One of my clients is missing.”

“Have you looked in jail? You often seem to find them there.”

“Her name is Cynthia Baxter. She's 27 and she was staying in my apartment.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“Five, six hours.”

“You consider that missing? That's barely enough time to rack up a good bar tab.” Tessa’s phone dinged. She looked down at it while Sam continued to talk. “And why are you asking me? You’re from a family of cops, go ask one of them.”

Tessa wasn’t listening anymore. Her mouth slowly dropped open. “Oh, God.”

Sam put his pen down and stood up, hands braced on the desk. “What's wrong?”

“I know I ask a lot of you, but this Cynthia thing is big. For their own protection, it’s too big to involve my family.” Tessa mimicked Sam’s stance, placing her hands on the desk and leaning in. “Cynthia’s a good kid and she was under my protection. Can you help me find her?”

Sam paused before nodding his head. He pulled back, shoving his hand in his pocket. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Tessa was walking to the door. She said over her shoulder, “Don't fire Alyssa. I snuck in while she was in the bathroom.”  

**SCENE OF PLANE CRASH**

**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

            Donna was jogging as carefully as she could down the uneasy side of a hill. She spotted Gabriel Short halfway down the hill, standing on the edge of a lookout.

“You're late.” Gabriel said, not bothering to turn his head when he heard Donna stumble behind him.

“I keep trying Cynthia’s phone, but it goes straight to voice mail.”

“When I say ‘all hands on deck’-”

“Gabe, she's our client. She's missing.”

“I mean all hands on deck. And she’s not _my_ client.”

“We should be doing things. Things should be happening. Shouldn't we at least file a missing person’s report? What could possibly be more important than-”

Gabe was tired of her ranting. He placed both hands on either side of her head and turned it so she could see why they were out in the middle of a field at six-thirty in the chilly morning.

Below the lookout they were standing on was a horrible scene – the charred carcass of an airplane strewn across the valley, once green grass black and covered in a combination of both human and airplane parts. The valley was surrounded by yellow tape and various official vehicles. Fire crews still worked to put out small fires and to cool the scene down. Men and women in white hazmat suits and yellow boots scoured the field, marking the deceased with red flags, airplane bits with green flags, and miscellaneous in yellow.

One hundred and twenty souls perished in the wreckage of Flight 684.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS, INC.**

**PRESS ROOM**

Michael O’Rourke stood behind a podium bearing his company’s logo in the Press Room, a little annex on the PR’s floor. A blue curtain acted as a backdrop behind him, the American flag standing to his right and the New York State flag to his left.

Various print and media journalist and their cameras were seated in front of him as he made his brief eulogy of Senator Paul Sanchez, a passenger of Flight 684.

“I first met Paul ten years ago at the governor's mansion. I thought my speech was pretty killer, so when Paul took me aside afterward, I was looking forward to simply ‘congratulations, Mike. You moved me to tears.’ And then for ten _very_ long minutes, he told me, point by point, why every word out of my mouth was not only wrong but potentially the dumbest thing any businessman or politician had ever said.”

There were a few chuckles from the crowd.

“Senator Sanchez told you the hard truth because he cared, because he thought we could all do better. He scored no political points and never asked for anything in return, but he earned my profound gratitude, and today, my profound sadness. Of course the senator would be the first to object if I stood up here today and talked about him and failed to mention the 119 other people who died this morning. This is…a tragic day for all of us. Our prayers are with all those who lost loved ones on Flight 684.”

**INFORMATION CENTER**

            The makeshift information center the airport, N.Y.P.D., F.A.A, N.T.S.B., and F.B.I set was in chaos. On one side, you had grieving family members looking for answers, trying to double check in a Hail Mary pass to see if their loved one was actually on the flight. On the other side was the feds, coordinating finding, sharing theories over crap coffee.

            Outside of the chaos, Tessa approached a tall man with an out-of-place grin on his face, given the circumstances. Gabe and Donna soon fell in behind her.

“Ms. Reagan, Nelson O'Shea, pilots' union. So nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes. I wish it were under better circumstances,” she tactfully reminded him.

“Yes, very sad.” he nodded. “So it's a standard crash investigation. We'll need you to make a statement on belief of the pilots' union to the press as soon as possible. The airline P.R. is up there right now, so-”

Tessa’s hand shot up to cover Nelson’s mouth. “You let them go first?”

“I-I didn't think it was a problem,” Nelson stuttered, fearing that he has done something wrong. He worried more about his job than anything else.

With one look, Tessa disregarded him as someone useless. She moved past them and into the information center towards the press conference. She needed to know exactly what the airline rep. was saying so she could demolish it later.    

**PRESS CONFERENCE**

            In the minimalist lobby of the information center, the airline representative of Sky National Airlines was standing behind an N.T.S.B podium with a diagram of maps to his side.

“Sky National has immediately activated our emergency response protocol and is in direct contact with the F.A.A. and N.T.S.B. Although our primary concern at this time is for the passengers on board the aircraft and their families. We're able to assure you, this particular plane has a perfect safety record.”

Tessa sighed furiously, turning to Gabe. “And there it is. They’re saying it’s the pilot’s fault.”

Beside him, Nelson looked confused. “No they didn’t. They just said-”

“They're not saying it, but they're saying it, and this crowd's eating it up with a spoon.”  

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS, INC.**

Michael and Christopher Neilson were walking shoulder to shoulder down the hallway with David Howser and Michael’s secretary, Veronica Gadd, directly behind them.

“Make sure we know when the memorial is so we can clear my schedule.” Michael directed Veronica.

**“** Sir, we ought to take this chance to bring the D.R.E.A.M. act to a vote.” Christopher hastily mentioned.

**“** Chris,” Michael grabbed Chris’ arm and stopped in the middle of the hallway. “The poor man's still scattered across the countryside, and you want to start using him to leverage a vote?”

Christopher sighed. **“** Paul wanted this more than anything. A pathway to citizenship for immigrant kids who go to college. He'd be _honored_.”

**“** It's a divisive issue,” David stepped in. “Even within our own party.”

“Let me put a call in to his wife, she if she'll reach out to the fence sitters.” Christopher offered.

After a moment of consideration, he asked, “How close is the vote?”

“Last nose count our guys in Washington has is with us within four or five.”

David shook his head. “We're gonna look opportunistic.”

It was Christopher’s turn to pause. He knew that this bill they’ve been lobbying for months was within their grasp. If they pushed Washington in the wake of mourning one of their own, to put this legislation through in memoriam of one of their own, they’d have the bill in place.

“Never let a crisis go to waste, Michael.”

“Make the call to D.C.” He nodded to Veronica to follow him as he stepped around Christopher. He wasn’t happy about this opportunistic grab, but Chris was right. Chris was always right.    

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

Donna was sitting at her desk, making phone calls into the pilot’s career background, digging up anything that would discredit the Airlines’ blame.

“And how long was her tour of duty in the Air National Guard? And she flew C-141S out of Dover? Okay. Thank you so much.” She hung up the phone and jotted down information. She saw a pair of ratty converse sneakers approach her desk. She knew this wasn’t good.

It was Gregory Williams.

She covered her notes and stood up. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought about not coming by, leave you guys out to dry for pretending to like me so you could keep an eye on me-”

“Greg-”

“But I’m better than that. See, I’m a _good_ person. A _good_ people warn other people. And I think you could be a _good_ person, too, if you’d stop letting Theresa Reagan control your life.”

“Is this the warning you dropped by to give?”

“No. Look, Cynthia Baxter is gone, and that means my story is gone, but it also means your client is gone.”

“If Cynthia is gone – and I'm not saying she is – then Tessa is working on it.”

“Well, I saw the news. Doesn't she have her hands full with this plane crash?”

“Just 'cause you don't see things happening, doesn't mean things aren't happening. With Tessa, things are always happening.”

“There's a missing person’s report, Donna.”

This new information floored Donna. “There's a report? W-Who filed it?”

“Cynthia's father.”

**LYALL’S OFFICE**

            Lyall had either confiscated, stole, or hacked into all security camera feeds in or around Tessa’s building. He’s spent the past couple hours going through footage from various angles. The camera he was currently working on faced the crosswalk about a hundred feet from the entrance of Tessa’s building.

He nearly coughed up his ham and pepper jack cheese sandwich when he spotted someone he thought looked familiar, caught on camera crossing the walk on a red light.

            He was barely six feet tall, mid- to late-thirties, and wore a blue pullover sweater, jeans, and black sneakers. His brown hair was finger-raked out of his face and cut close to his temples to keep the hair off his ears. He had green eyes that were deceptively peaceful with crow’s feet lines in the corner of his eyes from laughing.

            “Fuck.”

**DINER**

Lyall and the man from the security camera sat opposite each other in red vinyl leather booths, eating their pies. Lyall had barely touched his.

“So what are you calling yourself now?” The man asked cheerfully.

“Lyall. You?”

“Charlie. The hell does Lyall mean?”

“Old Norse for ‘wolf’. Is Charlie, like Charlie Brown?”

Charlie chuckled and popped a grape tomato into his mouth. “I thought you were dead, kiddo.”

“I'm not dead and I’m not a kid.”

“Sure lookin’ like one lie-all.” He starred Lyall down in good humor.

“Don't make fun of my name.” Lyall said dryly. Whatever good will Charlie was trying to bring back from their past, it wasn’t working.

Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. You out of business?”

“I was never _in_ business.”

“It's lucrative when you contract out.”

“I'm a retired government employee.”

“Oh, really? You sure?” Charlie chuckled darkly, the humor in his eyes no longer innocent. “You know what they say ‘once you go black, you never go back’. Ops, that it. Black Ops-”

“You never could tell a decent joke.”

Charlie put his fork down on the empty pie dish and leaned back in the booth. “So what do you want then?”

“Female, 5'4", 105 pounds, twenty-seven years old. Cynthia Marie Baxter.”

“Don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're getting sloppy in your old age. You crossed the street at a light. I got you on the traffic cam.”

“Well, then. You don't need to ask me about her, now do you? You got me on the _traffic_ _cam_.”

“Where is she?”

“No. No. That's just _tacky_. That's _tasteless_.” Charlie swatted the air, looking away. He was more for a dramatic flair; since leaving, ‘Lyall’ has gotten boring. “You know better than to ask. What did you think? That you were gonna buy me an assassin's brunch and then we'd hold hands? No. Jeez. Now you're off looking for missing girls? Come on. _Tacky_.”

“Stop looking. She's gone.” Charlie stood up and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. As he spoke, he dropped a few dollars on the table. “Hey, you ever want to come back, make a little more money than the U.S. government pays, more money than your girl Theresa, you give me a call.”

Charlie placed his hand on the sticky table and leaned in close to Lyall. “Talent like yours should not go to waste. And, it's not like Charlie Brown. Like Manson, Charlie Manson. Now that's a name. Lyall?” He scoffed as he pulled back. “Come on.”

Charlie left the diner with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step, leaving Lyall in the cheap booth alone.

**C.V.R. MEETING**

Tessa and her team sat round a conference room table, ladened with computers, transcripts, and other pieces of paper. Ajoining them were representatives from various government agencies.

“Welcome, everyone.” A middle-aged woman greeted them as she walked in with a cup of coffee. “This is the preliminary C.V.R. meeting of all interested parties to Sky National Flight 684. This morning, I'll play the black box recording in its entirety without stopping. You'll hear it once and once only. The National Transportation Safety Board prohibits you from recording what you're about to hear. You are allowed to take notes, but you are prohibited from taking those notes from this room. Any questions?”

The woman looked around, most everyone shaking their heads.

“Then let’s begin,” She gestured with her coffee cup to one of her workers to hit play on the flight recording.

_“Here it is, my special fruit drink.”_ It was Lori, the pilot’s voice.

“ _That's good. What's in it?”_ A second woman asked.

_“Cranberry, grapefruit.”_

_“It'd be perfect with some vodka.”_ A man, her co-pilot, joked. There were a few chuckles in response.

Later in the recording, a man from Air Traffic control said, _“Sky National 684, you're cleared to descend to and maintain 5,000.”_

_“Roger National 684. We'll be out of 15 for 5.”_ The co-pilot answered.

_“National 4 miles away at 2:00. Possible wake turbulence. You may feel a bump or two.”_ Air Traffic responded.

_“684. Got the airstream.”_

On the recording what sounded like a thump was clearly heard.

_“And I feel the bump or two. Hang on.”_ As Lori spoke, a warning noise went off in the cockpit. Her tone became more anxious. _“I'm pitching down. We're nose down.”_

The warning alarm continued to go off as Air Traffic tried to assess the situation. _“Sky National 684, I show descending. What's your status?”_

_“Kick rudder. Lori, left rudder.”_ Her co-pilot was shouting. _“Left rudder!”_

_“Sky national 684, what's your status?”_

“684. Emergency.” Air was rushing through the recording, causing static to mix with the warnings. _“Left rudder. Left rudder! What the hell are you - aah! Oh, here we go-”_

A brief scream that lasted for no more than a heartbeat and then silence.    

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

            For the past hour or so, the three of them were debating on the order of events in the recording.

“No, there was a loud bang and the captain was saying ‘hang on’.”

“No,” Donna disagreed with Gabriel, “that was the first officer.”

“Fine. But I can't remember if he said it before or after the two thumps.”

“Before…I think. Maybe after. I don't know.” She was flipping through her notes. “I-I should've written the whole thing on my arm.”

“Before the two thumps.” It was the first Tessa spoke in a while. She turned from starring out the cityscape to her team. “It was loud thump, loud thump, long clicking sound, short clicking sound, then three faint thumps. The first officer saying, ‘Left rudder. Left rudder. What the hell are you-aah! Here we go’.”

Gabriel and Donna both cast strange looks at Tessa. She shrugged it off. “I’ve got a good ear. But I'll tell you what I didn't hear in the last ten seconds. The pilot.”

Donna began tapping her finger on the table in agreement. “As soon as they hit the wake from the airstream, I think she panicked, maybe overcorrected.”

“It was like she didn't hear.” Gabriel added. “She froze.”

“Which is _exactly_ what the airline will say. If Sky National can prove pilot error, they save millions of dollars. They don't have to ground their fleet, do extra maintenance. They have every _reason_ to want to trash Lori Mackelson in the press, cast her as a panicking, P.M.S.ing woman who can't handle a little turbulence.”

“Lori had 16,000 flight hours under her belt.” A man stepped into the conference room. “She didn't panic. She was a great pilot, under _any_ conditions. She did not freeze.”

He looked haggard, disheveled hair, unshaven face, and wrinkled clothing. There were dark circles underneath his red-rimmed eyes. There was only one person this could be.

“Can I help you, Mr. Mackelson?” Tessa asked gently.

“Not unless you can bring my wife back.”

Tessa was silent. She turned to Donna. “Donna, would you please-”

Before she could finish, she was out of her chair and heading to the kitchen. Gabriel stood and offered his chair to Mr. Mackelson. He accepted it. Tessa sat down beside him, and Gabriel beside her.

“Mr. Mackelson-”

“Andrew, please.”

“Andrew,” Tessa corrected herself. “I know the union called us in, but what is it you would you like us to do? For Lori.”  

“All I want them to do is to get out there and say she didn't do this.”

“Believe me, Andrew. We're gonna do everything we can to clear your wife's name-”

“Then why haven't you said anything?” Andrew cut across her. “The news has already said the plane was perfect. Can't you just call a press conference?”

Donna came back in with a warm mug of coffee. She placed it in front of Andrew with a polite smile. Andrew took it, hoping it would calm him down. Having something warm in his hand helped.

“If I get up there and play defense, hold my gloves in front of my face, it confirms their narrative. We need to _change_ their narrative. We need to anticipate what they're going to say about Lori before they say it and then hit back. With evidence. So lay it on me. What is the _worst_ thing they can say?”

As Andrew thought about the darkest parts of his wife’s past, Donna resumed putting up pictures and documents on the window behind them.

“S-She's been sober for over 20 years. She still goes to A.A. meetings from time to time.”

“So she's an alcoholic,” Donna said flippantly, gauging Andrew’s reaction.

Andrew turned in his chair to her, angry. “That's not how I would phrase it.”

“Which is why they will,” Tessa said calmly, drawing Andrew’s attention back to her. She looked over Andrew’s head to nod at Donna. She nodded back and left the room.

As expected, not long after Andrew told them of Lori’s past, the television news networks had ahold of it, too. Tessa watched in her office as Kelly Davidson stood out in front of the crash site information center to report her findings. The by-line underneath her a photo of Lori in her uniform read: Alcoholic Pilot. Flight Crew At Hotel Partying.  

_“Sources say that the flight crew, including the captain and first officer, were drinking at their hotel the night before the flight. F.A.A. regulations prohibit the consumption of alcohol 12 hours before a plane's scheduled departure time. The crew was in direct violation of these regulations.”_

They cut to footage of the crash site and people in white hazmat suits carrying away dismembered corpses in bright yellow body bags.

“ _According to the manufacturer, the MW-85 has a perfect safety record. It's one of the top performing passenger planes in the world. The plane has met with nothing but praise from the aviation community.”_

**HOTEL BAR**

            “Boy, were they hammered.” Was the first thing out of the bartender’s mouth when Donna showed her a photos of the flight crew.

“Not the pilots, though, right?”

“Two pilots, six flight attendants All hammered.” She shook her head as she continued to towel dry a glass. “I said, ‘Y'all better not be flying tomorrow’. The lady pilot, she says to me, ‘Don't worry. These planes these days they fly themselves’. Can you believe it?”    

**OFFICE BUILDING**

“I could lose my job.” A man whispered insistently to Gabriel as he turned the corner, trying to doge the persistent lawyer.

**“** I just need a quick peek at the mechanic reports.”

**“** You're asking for a lot. You're not offering much there, Gabe.”

**“** No one will ever know.”

“Oh, our little secret, huh?” The man walked into his office and shut the door. He turned to Gabe with a cocky smile. “Maybe if you want to come by my apartment? Around 8:00? I'd like to get in a workout…”

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

Meanwhile, Kelly continued to crush Tessa minute by minute.

_“Early indications from the black box recording indicate that the airport tower tried to communicate with the pilot. Pleas from the first officer also appear to have been ignored.”_

“Damn it!” Tessa shouted, banging her hand on her desk. “They already leaked what was on the black box? Somewhere in that recording is the truth. We need our own copy.” She got up off the edge of her desk and poked her head outside her door, shouting, “Lyall! Black box!”

In the distance, she heard the front door open and shut again. Tessa walked into the conference room, waiting for it either to be Donna or Gabriel.

It was Gabriel, looking defeated and a little annoyed with himself. He held up two fingers, a gap no bigger than the edge of a quarter between them. “I was _this close_ to getting the mechanic's report.”

He stopped at his chair. He laid his briefcase on the table and began taking off his jacket. Donna’s heels could be heard coming down the corridor.

“What happened?”

“I lost my superpowers. What do you think happened; I got married. I can't use every tool in the box anymore.”

“Just find another tack, Gabe. We need those reports.” Donna came in with papers in her hand. “Donna.”

“The bartender confirms that both pilots and all six flight attendants were drinking.”

“Six?” Tessa turned back to the photos of the crew they had taped to the window. “Manifest listed five.”

“You think one of 'em didn't make the flight?” Gabriel asked.

“Black box recording,” Lyall announced, entering the room with a large grey thumb-drive in hand.

“How'd you get it?” Gabriel asked as he plugged it into Tessa’s open computer.  

“N.T.S.B. server. Kid's play. Tessa, may I talk to you?”

Tessa either ignored him or simply did not hear him. With Donna’s new information, thoughts were running through her head.

“Dona, check the airline schedule. See what attendants were supposed to fly 684.”

“Got it.” Donna picked up her binder and left the room.

“In your office?” Lyall asked, again not heard as Tessa turned to Gabriel.

“See what other flight crews were passing through Philly that night.”

“Got it.” Gabriel turned back to her computer and pulled up a new screen.

Donna poked her head back into the room, her hands in the air. “Where's the manifest?”

“On my desk.” Tessa vaguely pointed to her office.

“She's dead.” Lyall said. He stood off to the side, apart from the newfound commotion. He wanted Tessa to know what he knew, but he wasn’t sure what would happen next.

“If there is a missing flight attendant who is alive right now, we _need_ to find her before the airline does-”

“Amanda Tanner is dead!” Lyall shouted, so loud he was sure someone passing by the elevators could have heard. It didn’t matter now; he commanded the attention of the entire room. Slowly, each of them turned to look at him, faces mixed with shock, confusion, and horror.  

Tessa stumbled back a step. She reached out to grab the table to keep her steady. In disbelief, she asked softly, “Are you sure?”

Silently, Lyall nodded. Tessa couldn’t believe it….she could believe it, but she refused to think that people she once called friends would stoop to murdering a young woman and her unborn child. Her gaze roved the room, not landing on anything in particular.

Donna, who was standing off to the side behind her, tried to reach out and touch Tessa’s arm but Tessa yanked it away as if she’d been burned. She stormed out of the room, marching as fast as she could to the elevators without falling over in her heels.    

**STREET**

            Two men in a dark sedan were parked out in front of Tessa’s building. While the passenger reached down to picked something up, the driver raised his wrist to his mouth, speaking into a small microphone clipped to his cuff.

            Tessa marched over to them, walked around the edge of the car, and slammed her hands down on the hood. The thundering sound drew the attention of the people passing by on the sidewalk.

“Roll down your window!” Tessa shouted, hurrying to the driver’s side. When he wouldn’t, she batted it several times with her hand. Finally, the driver did, fearing her ring would scratch or chip the glass. It was a company car after all.

“You tell your boy - you talk into that little radio in your sleeve - and you tell Michael O’Rourke I know. I _know_ what he did to her. _I know_!”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS, INC.**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

Michael had rolled over his office chair to join Christopher’s little powwow taking place in the small sitting area of his office. David and Christopher, with a phone glued to his ear for the past hour, were sitting on the couch while Veronica and another aid sat in arm chairs, the coffee table with documents and coffee mugs between them. During this time, Michael sat back and watched them work, giving little input and making few suggestions.

“Shanker and Holiday are both on board,” Christopher reported, dropping the cell phone beside him on the couch and scribbling something on the paper in front of him, “but we're still three votes short.”

“This would be a lot easier for Davis to get behind if we suggest to Congress to throw in a few carrots for border security. It might give me something to work with.”

Christopher dramatically dropped his pen on the glass coffee table and leaned back on the couch, his head knocked back and eyes closed in exhaustion. He’s heard this argument before and it hasn’t gotten any better.

“Come on now, David.” Michael drawled lazily. “Are you telling me you can't work with bright, energetic young people earning their way to citizenship through good grades and hard work?”

David cracked an awkward smile. “It's not that, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“Great. Then I will count on Charlotte’s active support.”

Behind them at the office door, Veronica saw a member of the security team approaching. She quietly excused herself to meet him at the door.

“May I help you?”

“Mr. O’Rourke requested any and all updates reguared Theresa Reagan.”

She glanced behind her and saw Michael watching them curiously. She turned back to the security with a polite smile, saying “Right his way” as she held open the door.

He walked over to Michael and bent down to whisper silently in his ear, the man’s hand covering his mouth the discourage any eavesdropping. Christopher could tell from the blank expression Michael put on that the news wasn’t good.    

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**KITCHEN**

            Tessa was making herself a cup of tea while reading over transcripts from press releases, conferences, and the news media when her phone began to chirp. When she looked down, the number was blocked. There was only one person that could be calling her –

“Are we on a secure line?” She asked briefly before the line fully connected.

“Why the hell are you threatening my security?” Michael’s voice was gruff over the phone, anxious and tired.

“You mean the men you sent to follow and scare me?”

_“You told them that you know what I did to her. To who? Cynthia Baxter?”_

“Playing dumb doesn't suit you-”

_“Tessa,”_ He raised his voice. He was becoming anger, and angry men lead to stupid men. _“Either say what you mean or stop-”_

“War is war? _Fine_. But murder is murder.”

It was silent on the line for several moments. When she didn’t hear anything, Tessa checked her phone to make sure the called hadn’t dropped, but they were still connected.

_“Cynthia's dead?”_ Michael asked softly in disbelief. He went quiet again. When he returned, his voice was earnest, almost pleading. _“I-I didn't do this. You know me. You_ know _I didn't do this.”_

“I don't know anything.”

_“Trust your gut. Your gut's never wrong.”_

Tessa looked up at the bright lights above her, trying to hold back the tears that made her lip quiver. She whispered, “I don't have a gut. Not anymore.”

_“Tess. Come to Ivory Tower and look me in the eye. We need to talk about this face-to-face.”_

“Face-to-face is _over_. That girl is dead.”

“ _This wasn't me. You know me. And the thought that I would ever, that I could ever…You_ know _me.”_

Tessa squared her shoulders. Now was not the time to take pity on herself for poor judgement, or begin to have sympathy for a man she believed might have had a hand in a young woman’s murder. She wiped a tear track from her cheek. When she spoke, it was with the full authority of her anger and resentment.

“If you didn't kill her, someone on your team did. Tell me I'm wrong.” When he didn’t answer, it only confirmed her suspicions. “You let a pitbull off his leash, he mauls a baby-”

_“No one blames the dog.”_ He silently finished her thought.  

“You let someone off their leash. That's on _you_.”  


	11. Chapter 11

**CARLY RESTON’S APARTMENT**

**WEDNESDAY MORNING**

Donna had been knocking on the apartment door for the past five minutes. She was becoming even more annoyed. Finally, she decided to keep banging until someone answered the door. After thirty seconds, A small blonde woman with a serious hangover threw open the door and scowled.

“Carly Reston?”

“Yeah?”

“You're a flight attendant for sky national?”

“Oh, God. Look,” The anger disappeared from her face and was replaced by annoyance. “I called in sick before I went to bed last night, which is more than six hours in advance, so if you couldn't find anyone to cover, it's not my fault.”

Donna was stunned. She hadn’t considered Ms. Reston _not knowing_ about the crash since it’s been plastered all over the news.

Carly was confused by Donna’s silence. “You're not from corporate, are you?”  

**LATER**

They were sitting on Carly table, a hot cup of coffee in her hand and the news playing silently in the background. Footage of the smoldering remain of the hull were being broadcasted at the moment.

“All of them?” Carly asked numbly, her eyes red and puffy. “Everyone?”

“Yes,” Donna said softly, again.

“Sammi?”

“All of them. Everyone.” Carly was about to cry again. Donna, who’s not very good around messy people, awkwardly pushed a box of tissues across the table. “I need to know if Captain Mackelson was drinking at your party at the bar last night.”

“Lori?” Carly squeaked. “No way! She's been sober for, like, a _million_ years. Goes to meetings at every city on the route. She almost never comes out with us anyway. The only reason she even came out with us last night is 'cause it was my birthday.”  

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

“You didn't tell me Cynthia Baxter used to work in the Ivory Tower.” U.S.A. Samuel Lynch was sternly reprimanding Tessa as he followed behind her to the elevator. “You didn't tell me she had a previous suicide attempt. You pretty much didn't tell me a _single_ thing about the girl whom you tasked me with finding.”

Tessa stepped into an elevator and hit the button for the ground floor. Sam shot his hand out to hold the doors open. “If I'm about to step into political quicksand here, I'd like to know it before I sink.”

“I can't tell you any more than I've told you.”

“But you know more. If you can't tell me more, then you're _actually obstructing justice_!”

“I'm sorry, Sam.” She pushed his hand away and hit the button again. As the doors closed, she looked apologetic. “This is for your own safety.”

**PRESS CONFERENCE**

Tessa stood behind the press podium, to her left were various officials from the airline union and others, to her right were the charts, maps, and technical specs the N.T.S.B and F.A.A had put up.

“I'd like to correct, in the _strongest_ terms possible, the idea that the pilot, Lori Mackelson, had been drinking the night before the crash. She had not, and we have a witness to that effect.”

The camera flashes increased, but she didn’t let that bother her as she stared down the airlines spokesperson.

“A little history about Lori.” Tessa continued, in a softer tone. At the edge of the crowd, she spotted Lori’s husband. “She was married to Andrew Mackelson for 17 years. They have two boys - Carter, age 15, and Jonathan, age 12.”

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

She had just gotten out of the press conference and was both emotionally and physically exhausted. She had planned on going to her office, but spotted Lyall’s door ajar as she walked past the kitchen.

 A horrible thought crossed her mind. She needed to know where Cynthia was, and she had an idea on how….but the cost of that was a high price she was mortified to have someone she cared about pay. She had been battling with this decision the entire car ride back.

She took a deep breath, muttering a quick pray for forgiveness, and walked into Lyall’s office. He didn’t look up until he heard his door click shut. Tessa leaned back against the door, taking her time to collect her scattered thoughts.

“I don't _want_ to ask you to do this….it's not what you do anymore.”

Lyall could tell she was uneasy, dangerously unsure of herself. He had a feeling he knew what she was about to ask of him. “You want the body.”

“I know what I'm asking.” Tessa pushed off the door and stood by him. “And if it's too much for you, if you don't _want_ to, you _can say no_. That'll be the end of it. We'll find another way.”

Lyall didn’t respond at first. He reached across his desk to a pen holder he used to store lollipops. He took out her favorite, peach, and held it out to her. “I'll take care of it.”

“Lyall,” she took the peach lollipop with shaky fingers. “If you need reeling in, you call me. I'll come for you no matter what.”

“I know that. Thank you.” He stood up and took his coat off the back of the chair. “I got this. I'm good to go. No problem.”

She watched him leave knowing full one someone might lose their life because Tessa asked for it.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS, INC.**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

Christopher Neilson barged ecstatically into Michael’s office. Michael, his feet propped up onto his desk, was reading a copy of the latest copy D.R.E.A.M act Washington sent over.

“Digrazzo flipped!” Chris walked over to the desk and deposited a stack of papers he was carrying. “It took a lot of pork and a guarantee of heavy campaigning from you in New Jersey come midterms. We're only two away now.”

Michael slowly took his feet off the table and turned to Chris. He was upset, and rightly so. “Cynthia Baxter's dead.

“I know,” Chris said without pause, arranging the papers Michael needed to sign and look over. “Gabe called. How sad.”

“Aren't you gonna ask how it happened?”

“No. Should I?” From Chris’ voice, Michel could tell he was disinterested and only half-listening.

Michael placed his hand on the stack of papers, indicating Chris to stop. “A young woman died. A member of this company. _My_ company.”

“I said how sad I was. You didn't hear me? I'll say it again. _How sad_.” He gestured sarcastically out the window. “Let's lower the flag out front.”

“For God sakes, Chris, show some respect!” Michael tossed the D.R.E.A.M act on to his desk, leaning back in his chair.

Chris was quiet for a moment. Michael didn’t like it when Chris got quiet in the middle of a conversation – it either meant lecture or argument. Either one would be well thought out and meticulous enough to pack the right amount of emotional punch and back-handedness to steer his opponent in the right direction.

Chris walked around the desk to stand in front of it, making sure he had Michael’s full attention.

“128 innocent Americans - children, mommies and daddies and best friends and husbands and wives - _died_ in that plane crash yesterday. That's sad. We lost one of the few sane and worthy members of the Senate yesterday. That's sad. Four Navy S.E.A.L.S died in Afghanistan….and that doesn't even touch Sudan, Congo, and northern Mexico. That's sad. But the disturbed girl who made it her life's mission to take down this company, _your_ company; the one who was _gleefully_ carrying your illegitimate bastard child she's no longer with us? Well, I'm sorry if I'm not sitting Shiva. I'm sorry if I can't help but see the millions of people that we'll actually be able to help now that Cynthia Baxter is gone. I am sorry, but this is a good thing. It is a good thing for us. It is a good thing for the company.”

**LATER**

Catherine came in carrying lunch, a bright smile on her face. “I hear our guys in D.C. are going to pass the D.R.E.A.M. Act?”

Michael got up from his desk and kissed his wife’s cheek. He helped her pull their food out of the bags and place in on the coffee table.

“Chris on it like a dog with a bone. You know he called Sanchez' widow?”

“Good. It needs to be passed.”

“Still, there should be limits. We're _political_ animals. We're not animals.” Michael sank down on to the couch, leaning back to rest his head on the top. “Sometimes I think he's too willing to go to extremes.”

Catherine was silent for a moment. She turned on her heel and walked to Michael’s desk, pushing the button to reach Veronica Gadd. “Ms. Gadd, would you send Tom and Hal in here, please?”

Michael lifted his head, looking at his wife curiously. “Cat-”

Catherine held up her hand as Tom and Hal, Michael’s personal two-man security, walked in from where they were posted outside the door.

“Tom,” Catherine turned with a smile to the taller of the two men, blonde hair and a cleft chin.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“You would take a bullet for my husband, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Hal?” She turned to the shorter man, standing a good head below Tom. He was a little more round in the face and had brown hair.

“Yes, ma'am, I would.”

“Thank you. That's all.” The two men left and resumed their posts outside Michael’s office. She turned to Michael with a knowing smile. “There isn't a person in this building who isn't willing to go to extremes for you.”

“Yourself included?”

Catherine let that question slide as she finished unpacking their lunch.    

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

“I got it,” Gabe waked in with a smile.

Tessa was leaning over some of their paperwork. She stood up straighter, mildly disbelieving. “You got it?”

Gabe held up a blue folder. “Mechanic report - I got it.” He handed it to her. “I looked through 200 reports, every inspection made on this plane in the last year. These are two separate reports,” he pointed to the file.

Tessa opened it and placed them on the table. As he spoke, he pointed to the papers respectfully. “ _This_ one is signed and dated by a mechanic in Phoenix last fall. _This_ one's signed and dated by a mechanic in Philly a week ago – the last inspection before the crash. No problems reported in either.”

“That's bad for us, right?” Donna asked, climbing out from underneath the table. She had dropped her pen. “That means the plane was fine.”

“Read line four,” Gabe handed her the Phoenix report.

“’Power control unit’.”

“Notice anything?”

“He misspelled ‘control’ with two ‘T’s.”

Gabe turned to Tessa. “And the Philly report. Line four.”

Tessa smiled. “It's misspelled here, too.”

“What are the chances?” Gabe continued. “ _Identical_ reports submitted by _different_ mechanics in _different_ cities, months apart?”

“The Philly report is fake.” Donna summarized. “The last inspection of the plane before it crashed was forged.”

**PLANE INSPECTION SITE**

“That is your signature?” Gabe pointed out the inspector as they walked through the mechanic’s bay.

“No, it is, but that's not my report.” The inspector handed the paper back to Gabe. “That's not my handwriting. I wouldn't misspell ‘control’. I _won_ my sixth grade spelling bee.”

They stopped at the tool rack. The inspector put on his belt and began to fill it with tools as Gabe spoke. “You were the last one to inspect the plane before it crashed. Can you tell me what you said in your report?”

“Hey,” the man turned, furious, “I just turn 'em in, all right? This thing's not on me.”

“I'm not here to blame you.” Gabe calmed him down. “I just want you to remember.”

The inspector sighed. “Fine. First, I would've checked the P.C.U., then the summing levers. And you want to make sure they're okay, 'cause if they're not, you risk the rudder deflecting to full blowdown limit-”

“Hold on,” Gabe said, putting up his hand that had to report in it. He pulled out his phone and brought up the recorder. “I can’t write as fast as you speak.”

The inspector rolled his eyes. He started from the top, speaking a bit slower. “I would've checked the P.C.U., then the summing levers. You have to make sure they're okay, if they're not, you risk the rudder deflecting to full blowdown limit. If something was going on with the levers, I would've put the plane down. I remember recommending that for one of my birds.”

“What exactly are you saying? Are you saying there’s something wrong with the plane?”  

**CHARLIE’S APARTMENT**

Lyall had been waiting in Charlie’s apartment for the last several hours; sitting at his table, staring at his goldfish, trying to ignore the rusted red toolbox Lyall had brought with him. He had already laid down the plastic sheeting and wore his blue forensic booties. All that was left to do was wait.

 He heard the jiggle of keys in the lock. Lyall calmly got up from the table and went to the door. He waited behind it as Charlie opened it. When it closed, Lyall attacked. Charlie was unconscious and on the ground in less than a minute.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Lyall whispered to Charlie, reminding him of their conversation at the diner.

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

 Gabe had the blackbox recording on his phone. He hooked up a Bluetooth speaker and played it for Tessa, Donna, and Andrew Mackelson.

 _“Lori, left rudder. Left rudder_.” The co-pilot called out over the recording. Gabe paused it after a series of bumps.

“Right there. Hear that? Those three soft thumps. They're there. Trust me.”

“Trust him,” Tessa asked Andrew. “It's the sound of Lori pushing on the left rudder, but the pedal won't move. It won't let her go left.”

“Why not?” Andrew asked Gabe.

“According to the mechanic, the thing that makes the rudder go left or right, one of its parts was bent. It'd be like making a right turn in your car and having the steering wheel lock up on you. The mechanic mentions the bent lever in his report, but that report is gone.”

“This is good, Andrew. We can use this.” Tessa told him. “It means Lori did everything in her power to stop that plane from going down. It means it _wasn't_ her fault.”

Andrew looked around to everyone in the room. “Then whose fault was it? My wife is dead. 120 people are _dead_. Who's to blame for that?”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS, INC.**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

**EVENING**

As Michael stood at the head of the long table, on the phone with Senator Jankowski, David Howser, Christopher’s staff, and various D.C. aids sat around looking to Michael with hope and anxious fear on their faces. Chris stared down at the glass table, twiddling his thumbs.

“Well, we really appreciate your help. And I know senator Sanchez would, too. This is a great way to honor him.” Michael chuckled. “We'll fly you and Lynn out to New York for dinner next weekend; Catherine would love to catch up. Okay. Thank you, senator. Yeah. Bye.” Michael tentatively hung up the phone and turned to Christ on his left. A smile broke out over his face. “Jankowski's in.”

Chris let out a holler, throwing his fist in the air as everyone else smile and congratulated one another. “Well done, everyone! All right!”

Margot Creech handed Chris his tablet. As he wrote on the screen, the image appeared on the large whiteboard on the conference room wall. The heading of the page was ‘DREAM Act Senators’; underneath was a T-chart of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ voters. Currently, with Jankowski’s change, the two columns were tied - 49 to 49. He added Jankowski’s initials with the other senators in their column.

“Brant,” Chris barked, turning to a White House staffer down the table. “Call your people, let them know the updated count. I want confirmation on all sides. Understand?”

Brant nodded, collected his things, and left the room to find a desk somewhere to make his calls. Chris turned David, who was sitting on Michael’s right. “Brownhill's the deciding vote. And our V.P’s call to D.C will-”

“I'm sorry.” David shook his head. “I tried again this morning, but-”

The happiness from their momentary win was fading. Chris was becoming stern again. “Don't do this to me, David.”

“We're gonna need one more or else it’s a tie.”

Michael pushed away from the table. “Get your boss up here. This has gone far enough.”

He slammed the conference room door on his way out, leaving David and a handful of staff to Chris’s anger.

**CHARLIE’S APARTMENT**

 Charlie was lying naked on the plastic sheeting in the middle of his living room. His mouth was duct-taped, his feet were zip-tied together, and his arms restrained and splayed out on either side of him. This allowed for his lungs to expand. His body was covered in sweat and smelled of stale fear. Lyall could see the fear reflected in his eyes.

“I know. I know.” Lyall hushed him softly, squatted down beside Charlie. “Just showing up at someone's house it's so _tacky_. But we really do need to talk about what happened to Cynthia Baxter. Okay, Charlie?”  

 He left to retrieve his rusted red toolbox from the kitchen table and returned to squat beside Charlie once more. Charlie was completely aware of what was inside that toolbox and just how Lyall was going to use those tools. Charlie had seen him work and often called it masterpiece, a privilege to see such a talented artist work. But now that Charlie was Lyall’s canvas….he no longer thought Lyall an artist, but a butcher.

“I don't want you to think that I'm doing this because I'm mad at you. I'm not.” Lyall shook his head sincerely. “I'm not. You _trained_ me; but it was the agency, really. They took stuff from me, and not just my name or my ability to ever contact my family again. I was young, I was fresh out of high school, accepted into every top tier university I wanted, and they made it sound fun. We had _fun_ , didn't we? That's the _problem_.”

Lyall took out a pair of black latex gloves and put them on. “It's horrible and it's sickening, and just when you think you can't take any more, it gets _fun_. The U.S. government really knows its stuff, yeah? Something in you just falls away, and it gets _fun_.”

Lyall lifted the top rack of the toolbox up to pull out his real instruments. He laid them out next to Charlie’s head.

“There's a high. It's _good. It's so good_ , which is what I wanna remind you of how good it can get. You think about that.” Lyall chuckled nervously. “Okay, I'm thinking about it 'cause I'm rusty. _I'm sober_. This is gonna be…. _bad_ for me for a while, but I'm gonna push through the horrible and the sickening and then something's gonna fall away, and I'm gonna start enjoying myself.”

He picked up the vibrant yellow drill with the dime-store unicorn sticker on it and attached the bit he needed. “And we both know what an artist I can be. And like any junkie, I'm gonna enjoy the high for as long as I can. Okay?”

Charlie lifted his head as much as he could, shaking his head and muttering. Lyall let the drill spin, a high pitch whining sound coming out of hit.

“Are you ready, old friend?”  

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES & HOLDINGS, INC.**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

“Charlotte!” Michael smiled, getting up from behind his desk to greet his company’s Vice President. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

Charlotte Davis was a proud African-American woman; God-fearing and as right-winged as she could be. She is passionate and deceptively charming, having no problem with using her gender to charm her way into what she wants. Tall, lithe, and with onyx black hair waving to below her shoulders. One would think choosing the Vice President of one’s company meant selecting a trusted, yet knowledgeable friend, at the very least someone you tolerated. Michael’s and Charlotte’s relationship was purely political driven business. They both knew they needed the other to get what they wanted.

“It's nice to be invited to the party, Michael.” She shook his hand with a smile. “I just came from a prayer meeting. You know how my people like to pray.”

“I do. Please,” he gestured to the sitting area. Charlotte took a seat on the couch and Michael sat in the arm chair beside her, a safe distance between them.

“I don’t know if you know this, but my Cassidy was only 12 years old when I was deciding whether or not to take you up on your V.P. slot, and she said to me, ‘do it, mama. War-Hero-Rourke walks with the Lord’.” She chuckled. “Can you believe she was only 12 years old?”

“Very precocious, that Cassidy.” Michael smiled, crossing his legs. Cassidy was a freshman at Columbus now and by-far nothing like her mother. “We did it, Charlotte. Our votes tally The D.R.E.A.M. Act will tie in the Senate unless we get your friend Senator Bradley Brownhill on board to cast the deciding vote.”

“Michael, I'm afraid that I…” She took a moment to consider her words. “The children of illegal immigrants should not be allowed to take part in the bounty of America, Michael. That is not God's plan. I'm not saying that they shouldn't be allowed to partake in certain paths to legal immigration.”

“You're an experienced politician and a woman of God, so I'm not gonna waste your time by trying to talk you into something that you've _obviously_ given a lot of serious thought to. So let's just get right to it. You’ve been a Congress Woman, Senator, and now _the_ V.P of an incredibly influential company that spans the globe. Just look at what we’re doing; we took over the _fucking_ Senate.”

“Michael-”

“You intend to be President one day. You’re plenty young and your ambition grows every day. And whatever our disagreements, I am not ashamed to admit this country could use a woman president. So let’s put this inconvenient situation in that perspective, shall we?” Miachel leaned forward in his chair. “Out of the 14 vice presidents in our nation’s history who have gone on to assume the presidency, do you know how many have done so without the endorsement of the President they served?”

“None.”

“ _None_. When, not if, but _when_ you run, a recommendation from me and this company could go a long way. Or it may not get you very far. That all depends on the next few seconds.” Michael stood, towering over her, his hands in his pockets. “Get Brownhill on board.”

“I’ll get Brownhill on board,” Charlotte agreed in a diplomatic tone, not wishing to betray what she truly felt although Michael was fully aware.

Chris stepped in as Charlotte was leaving. “Sir?”

Michael watched Charlotte leave, waiting till the door closed fully behind her before speaking. “She's in. Deal closed. We're good. The bill will pass the senate with Brownhill with no problem.” Michael turned with a smile to Chris, who stood beside Michael’s desk, “And if it doesn’t, I will tear her right-wing guts out and send them to that brat of hers. I'm back. I am back, Chris.”

He dropped down onto the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. His good mood didn’t last long. Receiving no response from Chris, Michael turned to him. “Chris?”

Chris had his hands shoulder width apart on the desk, his head hung and staring blankly down. Michael snapped his fingers and called his name out again. This time, it seemed to rouse him. Chris walked over to the armchair Michael had been in and slumped down, his hand rubbing his eyebrows.

“We got a blackmail letter. A demand.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “It's not Tessa. It's not Cynthia. Tessa's not this crazy, and Cynthia is _dead_.” He leaned forward in the chair. “Which means there's someone else, a third party. Tessa did not send us that sex tape. Someone else did-”

“Chris!” Michael yelled, cutting across Chris’s blabbering. “What's the demand?”  

**CHARLIE’S APARTMENT**

**NIGHT**

Charlie was yelling as much as he could with the tape secured over his mouth. He was writing in extreme pain, pulling at his bindings, moaning, crying, yelling. Snot, sweat, drool, and tears mixed together and all of it ran down his face. Blood splattered all over the plastic sheeting and Charlie; amazingly, not one drop escaped their little plastic hell.

Lyall laid down beside him; taking in the high of lost sobriety. He could feel small pools of Charlie’s blood seeping into his own clothing, but he didn’t care. He brought a spare set with him. There was blood already running down his face. His breathing came in ragged breaths, like he couldn’t quick catch it and keep it in.

“Oh, Charlie, you make a beautiful noise.” Lyall sighed, closing his eyes. He rolled on his side to face Charlie, propping his head on his hands. “They did, you know, take stuff from me the U.S. Government. After I started not being able to sleep after I started crying when I wrapped a guy in plastic, they put me in a hole nobody wants to be in. And I don't mean a metaphorical hole. I mean, an _actual_ hole.”

“They took stuff from me, Charlie,” Lyall whispered, rolling back over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He could feel the emotions welling in his chest, the pinpricks of tears swelling at his eyes. He let them run down his face when they came. “I was homeless, on the subway, begging for change when Tess found me. That’s why I'm breaking my sobriety. Because she asked, okay? And I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that I owe her. I'm not gonna stop until you tell me where Cynthia is. You get that?”

Lyall sat up and ripped the tape off of Charlie’s mouth. Charlie was moaning and crying out in pain, but Lyall squished Charlie’s cheeks together to silence him a little. He leaned in close, his voice softly menacing.

“Tell me where she is, Charlie. I have a scalpel, a 10-blade. I will peel you like a _grape_. You're gonna retire to New Mexico. It's nice there. But first, you're gonna tell me where Cynthia Baxter's body is.” Lyall reatched behind him to retrieve the scalpel. He held it up. “All right?”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

**U.S. ATTORNERY’S OFFICE**

**THURSDAY MORNING**

Theresa Reagan walked sullenly in Sam’s office. She dressed in black - tailored black pencil dress with cap sleeves, black collarless blazer, black suede pump, and black tote. Today wasn’t a day for color. Sam was the opposite – light grey three-piece suit, vibrant moss green tie, crisp white shirt. If Tessa had to guess, she’d say he was wearing a pair of outrageous socks. Probably his favorite – white tube socks with red trim and pizza decorations.

            “Alyssa, you're fired again.” Sam shouted out his open office door as Tessa walked in.

            Tessa silently placed her tote in one chair and sat down in the one beside it, silently facing Sam’s glare. By now, Tessa would be bantering or lecturing or giving a rousing speech, at the very least she would be talking, but she did nothing. She sat in the chair and stared out the window behind Sam, her face drawn and melancholy.

           “What?” Sam asked softly, letting go of his glare.

           She didn’t respond.

           Sam capped his pen and stood up. He walked around the edge of his desk to squat beside Tessa’s chair. Sam and Tessa’s friendship was complicated; he often told Tessa they weren’t friends after she’d give him a friendly threat, yet they always came through for one another. He loved her, but not in the way most people would love their occasional, need-based lover. It was a grey love, in between their white and black worlds.

          The Theresa Reagan he saw before him concerned, and mildly scared, him. This wasn’t at all like her. Something was terribly wrong.

          He laid his hand on her thigh and squeezed gently. “Theresa?”

          She slowly came out of her stupor, slowly sliding her eyes to his. There was water glistening in the red rims of her eyes. She spoke softly, “14th Street Bridge. You're gonna need a diving team.”

          “You okay?” His thumb lightly stroked her knee.

          “Not really,” her voice cracked, and her breath hitched. She brushed her fingertips across his cheek before resting her palm against it. She gave him a watery, sad smile to let him know just how not okay she was. She didn’t let many people see her this weak, but Sam was one of them.

          Sam turned his head to press his lips softly against her palm. Whispering into it, “Okay.”

**14 TH STREET BRIDGE**

            Tessa, Sam, and Lyall stood on the bank of the river underneath the bridge and watched as the NYPD diving team and their boat searched the water for Cynthia’s body. Unnoticed by Tessa, off to the edge securing the scene with yellow tape, was her younger brother, Officer Jamie Reagan standing beside his supervising officer, Sgt. Anthony Renzulli.

            When Jamie pulled up to the scene, the first thing he noticed was his sister’s withdrawn face. She was pale, her eyes sunken and red-rimmed. The second thing he noticed was the tall man with brown hair standing beside his sister, dressing in an impeccable suit. He would have thought him a client of hers if he had not reached down between them to take Tessa’s hand.

            As Jamie and Renzulli got out of the squad car, Jamie asked, “Hey, Sarge, who’s the suit?”

            “Who, that guy?” Renzulli nodded to the man beside Tessa. “That’s A.U.S.A. Sam Lynch. Why?”

            “’Cause that’s my sister.”

           “Dark-side-Reagan? No kidding.” Renzulli tapped Jamie’s chest with the back of his hand. “Never thought I’d meet a Reagan who batted for the other team.”

           “She’s not crooked, Sarge. She’s just….” Jamie struggled for the right words to defend his sister.

           “A good lawyer with bad clients?” Renzulli chuckled. “Well, your good lawyer sister’s client might be at the bottom of this river. Guess she’s here to ID the body when they-”

            Before he could finish, the diving team signaled that they found something. The NYPD boat maneuvered a crane with straps onto it to the diver’s position. The crane was lowered into the water guided by the divers. After a few moments, the crane came back up, this time with Cynthia Baxter’s body strapped to it.

            As the body was being taken aboard the boat, Tessa looked away, squeezing Sam’s hand and gripped his arm with her other.

            It was Cynthia Baxter.

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

            Sam suggested Tessa take a moment to herself and grab some coffee with him. She needed to collect herself before getting back to work. She agreed with him, in that she’d take the time to calm down on her way back to the office. There was still one person she needed to get justice for.

            Sitting opposite her and Gabriel at the conference table was the Sky National airline’s CEO, Rodger Whitfield, his lawyer, and his airline’s spokesperson. Throughout their meeting, he had been growing angry.

            “What _exactly_ are you insinuating, Ms. Reagan?”

            “I don't like to insinuate,” Tessa said evenly, a stark contrast to Whitfield’s tone. “I'd rather deduce likely scenarios. And in my scenario, you get a mechanic's report that says you have to ground all your mw-85s, which would cost you millions and send your customers running to your competitors. You'd worry about what your stockholders are going to say. You'd worry about your job. That's understandable. If I'm C.E.O., it's the last thing I'd want. So one report goes missing no harm, no foul that is until 120 people fall out of the sky.”

           “This is not some kind of conspiracy. If that's what-”

           “She doesn't insinuate,” Gabriel repeated. “She deduces.”

           “I started this airline with one plane, two pilots, and an old furniture warehouse converted to a hangar. I lost seven employees yesterday. The senior flight attendant,” Whitfield’s façade as a cold shark began to crack, finally showing an ounce of emotion – grief. “Sammi Tyler, was one of my first hires. Believe me, I want the truth just as much as you do.”

           “So why did this report disappear?” Gabriel handed him the doctored report. “Why didn't it get passed up the line?”

           “I don't know.”

           “Somebody does.”  

**AIRLINE OFFICES**

            Whitfield gave them permission to talk to anyone and everyone in their offices that would have had contact with the reports. Donna was on her way to talk to Phyllis Hayes, the woman who oversees the mechanic reports.

            As Donna walked into the small room of cubicles, she could feel all eyes on her. It didn’t take long to find Phyllis’s.

           “Phyllis Hayes?” Donna said, knocking on the metal divider of the cubicle. “I'm, uh, Donna Martin. I'm here to-”

           “I know why you're here, Ms, Martin.” Phyllis sighed. She reached over to a stack of files overcrowding her small desk. As she spoke, she rifled through the papers. “Two people used to do my job, and now it's just me. That's not an excuse. It just means things pile up. I had a huge backlog of mechanic reports from all over the country and I had to get them out, push them up the ladder. They fire you if you don't get them in on time to headquarters. But my youngest daughter was having a piano recital and I didn't want to miss it. I-I already missed one this year…”

           Her babbling stopped when she pulled out a blue folder with the Sky National logo in the center. She silently held it in her hands, bitting her bottom lip to keep from sobbing. “So I duplicated one of the reports. I didn't think it was a big deal.”

          “I believe this is what you're looking for.” She handed Donna the folder, on the verge of tears. “I'm never going to hear her play without thinking about all those people. She's very good at the piano, my daughter.”

          “I'm sure she is, Ms. Hayes,” Donna said softly.

           As Phyllis began to quietly sob in her cubicle, Donna turned and left knowing that woman would probably never see her daughter again outside of a two-foot thick Plexiglas window.    

**PRESS CONFERENCE**

          Rodger Whitfield stood in front of the press podium, hands gripping either wooden side, as she spoke. There was hardly any room surrounding the podium, all space taken up by reporters and their crew of camera and boom-sticks. Tessa and Mr. Mackelson stood off to the edge of the press gaggle and watched Whitfeild’s conference.

          “I've come here tonight to express my sincere condolences to the victims and the families of Flight 684. As of this afternoon, sky national has participated fully in the N.T.S.B. investigation, and we understand and accept our role in the events leading up to the crash. So I would like to take this time to apologize to all those who lost loved ones in this tragic event, including the families of the crew, and of captain Lori Mackelson, who fought so valiantly until the end to prevent this terrible tragedy. Thank you.”  

**TESSA REAGAN’S CAR**

            Tessa was driving to the city morgue, Lyall riding shotgun, to be with Hank Baxter, Cynthia’s father as he identified is daughter’s body. They drove in comfortably strained silence until Tessa’s phone began to ring. She answered it with her car’s hands free wireless.

            “Reagan,” she spoke clearly so the other line could hear her.

            Through the speakers, she could hear her father’s deep, comforting voice. “Hey sweetie. I saw the Sky National press conference. Congratulations on clearing the pilot’s name.”

            “Yeah, well, an apology from the airline isn’t going to bring back the hundreds of people scattered across New York.”

            Frank was silent for a moment, caught off guard by her daughter’s curt tone. Tessa sighed, regretting having not thought before speaking. She rubbed her forehead. “Sorry, Dad…it’s just been a long day.”

            “Everything okay, Tess?”

            “No, but thank you for asking.”

            “Tess-”

            “I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll see you Sunday.” She cut him off, hanging up quickly.

            They were pulling up to the morgue. She parked the car, cut the engine…and stayed sitting. She knew she should get out to comfort Hank, gain a sense of closure, but she couldn’t move. She froze.

           “She didn't suffer.” Lyall broke the silence, staring straight ahead at the cold building in front of them. “It was a good death.”

            Tessa let go. She began to violently sob, clutching her chest and the steering wheel. Lyall placed his hand on hers, letting her know she was not alone in this. He already knew that she knew he would do anything for give, all she had to do was ask it of him and it would be done. But this time, Lyall needed her to know she wasn’t alone. That he was here for her, and always will be.

           “It's okay,” he muttered, again and again to sooth her until she was ready to head inside.  

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

**U.S. ATTORNERY’S OFFICE**

**NIGHT**

            Tessa was curled up in the corner of the small couch in Sam’s office. Her shoes were on the floor, her legs curcled up and tucked under her as much as her dress allowed. Sam, with his suit jacket off, vest unbuttoned and hanging open, and his tie gone for the night, walked over to Tessa with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of Scotch in the other.

            “Personal belongings on her body, no sign of foul play, slashed her wrists a month ago.” He sat down heavily beside her and poured them each two fingers. “NYPD want to rule it a suicide. Coroner wants to rule it a suicide.”

            Tessa accepted her glass and wrapped her hands around it. She looked mournfully into it. “So it's gonna be ruled a suicide.”

            “Yep.” Sam leaned back into the couch, one arm on the top of the couch around Tessa, the other holding his glass on his leg crossed over the other. A casual posture for what he was about to asked. “So who do you think killed her?”

            Tessa held her glass to her lips for a moment before sipping. Sam knew he had her.

            “See, I've got this nagging feeling you've got a pretty good idea.” He took a sip of his own. “I know I give you a long leash on a lot of things, and I like to, because despite my better judgment and all my protests to the contrary, I really do consider you a friend.”

            He put his glass on the coffee table in front of them and moved in closer to Tessa. With his left arm circling her on the top of the couch, his right reached out to grip the edge of the sofa. She was essentially surrounded by Sam, who wasn’t about to let her go without hearing what he had to say. He spoke low, leaning in to make sure she understood the seriousness of his words.

           “But I can't look the other way here, not on this. Don’t want to go to your sister at the D.A’s office on this; fine. You don’t want to involve family. But I’m not your family, I’m not your lover. I’m an Assistant U.S Attorney. I prosecute crime. I get the bad guys. So at some point, even with you, I gotta draw the line. I gotta do my job.”

            After a beat, Sam’s warm breath gently sliding over her face, their eyes locked to one another, Tessa raised her glass to her lips and spoke around the rim. “The white hat looks good on you.”

**TESSA REAGAN’S APARTMENT**

            Tessa got home just in time to catch the late broadcast of CNN’s early polling report of the Senate’s D.R.E.A.M Act. It wasn’t scheduled to be voted on in days, but the news was going with it given the lead sponsoring Senator’s death in Flight 684’s crash. Tessa had been trying to listen to the broadcast, but Gabriel was babbling incessantly into her ear over the phone. He was speaking to fast for her to understand him clearly.

           “ _Congressman Mike Pence of Indiana,”_ the TV anchor was saying, _“welcoming the compromise but cautioning against taking too much credit.”_

          Between the TV and Gabriel, she barely heard the knock on her door. She glanced over to it, calling out, “Coming!”

          She shut off the TV as she got off the couch, turning back to her conversation with Gabe. “Wait? What did you say? I didn’t catch it.”

_“It's not his.”_

          “What?”

_“I just got the coroner's report. Chris pulled some stings-”_

          “Gabe-”

_“Serving two masters, so sue me. It’s worth it.”_

          “Better be.”

 _“The blood type's not a match. Cynthia was pregnant, but the baby was not O’Rourke’s.”_ Tessa opened her door, not expecting who she saw standing before her. IN her ear, she could faintly hear Gabe calling to her, _“Tess? Tess-”_

          Tessa took her phone away from her ear and ended the call. She was stunned, her mouth open slightly. She whispered, “Hi.”

          “Hi,” Michael O’Rourke whispered back, a smile playing at his lips.

          “Why are you here?” Tessa asked after a moment to collect herself. “You can't be here!”

          Michael placed his hands on either edge of her door frame. “I didn't kill Cynthia Baxter.”

          “I know.” Tessa held open her door, ushering him in before anyone saw. She noticed his two security men, Hal and Tom, and the end of the hallway. Tessa shut the door behind him, leaning back against it with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Her baby it wasn't yours. But it _could have been_.”

         “Really?” Michael took a step closer to her. “You really want me to detail for you how and where and in what positions Cynthia Baxter and I had sex?”

         “No-” Tessa pushed off of the door and walked past him, waving her hand for him to stop. He only continued as he walked after her.

        “Would that help make you feel better? 'Cause I'll do it.”

        “No.”

         “You left me!” He shouted as they reached the living room.

         “Left _you_?!” Tessa whirled around, angrily shouting back. “You’re the one that left _me_!”

         “I was unhappy! She was there.” He lowered his voice, reigning in his frustration. “One time. I-- I made a mistake.”

          “I don't want to talk about it.” She shook her head, disgusted. “You cheated on your finance with your mistress, then on your wife with your girlfriend. It wasn’t just once, Michael. Let's just leave it at that.”

       “She wasn't my girlfriend-”

       “Why are you here?” She cut across him. She held her hand out for him to stop as he walked towards her again.  

       Michael pulled out a CD from his interior jacket pocket. “Chris got this in the mail a week ago. It's a sex tape. I'm on it.” He held it out to her. “I need you to hear it.”

       Tessa chuckled darkly, grimacing. She looked at him, hurt, like the fucking idiot he was acting like. “I _definitely_ don't want to hear you and Cynthia Baxter having sex.”

       “Theresa.” Michael stepped closer to her, ignoring her protests, until he was a breath away. He held up the disk between them. “I need you to listen to this.”  


	13. Chapter 13

**THURSDAY NIGHT**

**CITY MOURGE**

U.S. Attorney Samuel Lynch stood over the cold corpse of Cynthia Baxter, her metal slab pulled out of the wall. He lost track of time. He couldn’t recall how long he’d been standing beside her, looking down at her ashen skin.

            He pulled his thoughts away from the dead woman on the table long enough to take out his cell phone. He dialed the familiar number of his legal secretary.

“Alyssa, cancel your plans. We're working late tonight.”

**GREGORY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT**

Tonight, like most nights, Gregory was pouring over old video footage of Michael O’Rourke at various campaigns and events, looking for anything that might show him and Cynthia Baxter together in a more than business-like friendliness.

And like most nights, he has found nothing.

**FEDERAL PLAZA – U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE**

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

Alyssa Song, a stylish young Asian woman in a skin-tight leopard print mini dress, teetered into Sam’s office on a pair of six-inch heels carrying a large take-out bag.

“Ah, did you get moo-shu chicken?” Sam greeted the delicious smell of Chinese food. He rolled his eyes at her when he looked up from his desk. “No wonder it took you so long. How do you even walk in those?”

“I got whatever you ordered.” Alyssa snapped, placing the bag on his desk. “And these shoes aren't made for walking. They are made for getting me laid, specifically, they are for the very hot bartender at the Black Cat, where I would be having a drink right now if I didn't happen to work for an obsessive-compulsive slave driver who makes me fetch him dinner at 10:30 on a Thursday night.”

“You know,” Sam said sarcastically as he helped her unload the takeout bag, “if you spent less time at the _Black Cat_ and more time studying for the bar exam, you wouldn't be fetching your boss anything because at law firms, they have assistants for that.”

“Lots of lawyers fail the bar.”

“All lawyers pass the bar. That's what makes them lawyers.” He countered with a cheeky grin. He pushed a carton towards her as he sat back down behind his desk. “Alyssa, eat something. We have a murder to solve.”

“No, we don't. Coroner says it's a suicide, and the police agree with her, which is why I went home two hours ago, because work was over.”

Sam reached over his food to hand her a file folder. “Cynthia Baxter. 27. Single. 13 weeks pregnant. Worked as an aide at the Ivory Tower till just a couple weeks ago when she abruptly resigned and botched a suicide attempt. Then she becomes a client of Theresa Reagan’s, and we pull her dead body out of the river. Don't you find that interesting?”

Alyssa peered skeptically at him over the top of the folder. “I find it interesting she’s a client of your not-girlfriend.”

Sam clicked his chopsticks at her. “Well, pretend her dead body is interesting, for me. Now if you did happen to find any of this remotely fascinating, incongruous, intriguing, _worthy of our time_ , what's the first question you might ask about Cynthia Baxter?”

“Well, um, who at the Ivory Tower would want her dead?”  

**TESSA REAGANS APARTMENT**

            As Michael stood awkwardly in the center of her living room, Tessa placed the CD he gave her into the player on the bookcase. With a trembling finger she hit play.

            Moans, groans, and the sound of lips sucking and skin touching vibrated through the air until Michael’s voice drifted out in husky tones,

“ _Take off your clothes._ ”

Tessa paused it, twirling around to meet Michael with a horrified expression on her face. “Chris got this? In the mail? That’s-”

“Us.” Michael said softly, sitting down on the edge of her couch. “2008, President Obama’s campaign, New Hampshire primaries. It was a Tuesday night. My hotel room. You had been so careful to keep your distance from me throughout the campaign, for _months_ we were in different states - you over the phone, me in person. But then…”

“We slipped,” Tessa whispered.

Michael nodded. “Eight months, Tess. Eight months we were back together and everything was finally _right_.”

Tessa shook her head. “No it wasn’t. You were married. I was engaged. It was _wrong_.”

“You left me, Tess.”

“Not soon enough.” She turned away from him and walked back to the CD player. She ejected the disk and held it in her hand. Something so small could do so much damage…. “Someone's had this for two years. Why wait? Why now?”

“All they had was a tape and a voice. They needed a girl.”

“They needed Cynthia Baxter.”  

**GREGPRY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT**

_Found something….._

In a charity event for displaced animals being housed at various animal shelters along the east coast from recent flooding, Michael O’Rourke was throwing an adoption event. In some of the news footage captured of him petting dogs, holding cats, and shaking hands, Gregory found a snippet of Michael and Cynthia together.

Together with a golden retriever earily similar to Cynthia’s own.

Gregory pulled out his phone and dialed a number her found on one of his sticky notes.

“Hi. This is Gregory Williams from "The New York Sun." We spoke last week about Cynthia Baxter in 3-B. Yes, I do know what time it is. I know it's late, but I- do you know who's looking after Amanda's dog? I think it's a golden retriever. Do you know who's watching it for her? Her boyfriend? Really?”

**U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE**

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

Sam’s desk was too small, so he and Alyssa moved their paper party to the floor. She sat on the floor as comfortably as she could, but still stole Sam’s suit jacket to stay modest. He, on the other hand, laid on his back with his legs splayed and knees bent. Alyssa would have made a joke about gynecologist stirrups if she hadn’t found something.

“Look at these logs.” She said, nudging Sam with her toe. “This girl is signing into the Tower at the crack of dawn and signing out in the wee hours, every day. You know what I think? I think work and play overlapped. Think about it. She never goes home, so where's she doing it? The _Ivory Tower_ , that's where.”

Sam turned his head to her, furrowing his brows in disbelief. Alyssa rolled her eyes knowingly.

“Oh, like you wouldn't at work?”

Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. He chose to say something about Cynthia rather than his ‘relationship’ with Theresa.

“So she was sleeping with someone at work, as apparently, any red-blooded American would.”

“And plus, it's gotta be someone in the parts of the building she's logging into. That totally narrows it down.”

“To…” Sam shuffled through the papers until he found the list of names he was looking for that had access to those parts of the building. “Fifty-seven employees of the male persuasion. So the question remains who's her baby daddy?”

Alyssa chuckled. “Did you just say ‘baby daddy’?”  

**GREGORY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT**

Gregory slumped into his couch, cup of coffee in his hand. He hung his head over the steam to keep himself awake as he waited on the phone.

“Hey, Marco. How's the night shift treating you? Cool. Did you get that coroner's report yet?”

Whatever answers he received woke him up more than the coffee could have. He quickly placed the cup on the table to keep from spilling it in his excitement.

“Seriously? How far along?”

Cynthia Baxter was thirteen weeks pregnant. And the father was most likely the killer, too.

When Gregory got off the phone with Morgue Marco, he scrounged around his sticky notes for his next contact to call.

“Hi. Gregory Williams. "New York Sun." Yeah, that's right. I called before. No, I didn't know you needed to be at work in an hour. Do you know Cynthia's boyfriend? He's watching her dog. Works at the Ivory Tower? Do you don't know his name? Lives in Logan Circle. All right. Thank you.”

Gregory tossed his phone onto the couch with a smile. He couldn’t help it. After weeks of running around in circles he was finally getting somewhere.

**U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE**

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

Sam had obtained copies of the employee IDs for the fifty-seven men that had access to the parts of the building Cynthia had. Since Alyssa was close in age with their victim, she was flipping through their photos to see which ones were potential canidates.

What Sam wasn’t expecting was the harsh commentary Alyssa added to the process.

“Old. Old. Ugly. Psycho eyes. Ugly. Old. Old.”

“I have learned so much tonight,” Sam sighed, staring blankly at the large discard pile of IDs.

“What about this guy?” Alyssa turned a photo around to show Sam. “Robert Sullivan.”

“Why him? “ Sam took the picture. Sullivan was a nice looking young man, blonde hair a little too long, warm eyes, crooked smile. His tie was too thin and loose in the photo.

“He's cute.” Alyssa shrugged. “But look at that smile. He could totally be a killer.”

“You think whoever knocked her up was also the one who killed her?

“Of course. It's always the boyfriend.” She snatched the photo from Sam and put it in the ‘suspect’ pile. A rather small pile.

“Of course,” Sam muttered.  

“Tessa better watch out….” Alyssa sing-song sang as she flipped through more photos. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle.

**GREGORY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT**

            Pen in mouth, back hunched over his computer, Gregory set about the task to tracking down Cynthia’s mysterious boyfriend. All he knew was the man was an Ivory Tower employee who lived in Logan Circle and was taking care of Cynthia’s dog.

            One by one, he went through the names of all men Cynthia would have access around the same age as her, not ruling out married men. Although Michael O’Rourke didn’t live in Logan Circle, that just meant he wasn’t the boyfriend, just an affair.

            That added to the motive Gregory was working at – Cynthia has an affair with O’Rourke, gets pregnant, co-worker boyfriend finds out and kills her. Wouldn’t that be a story to break….

            For hours he went over the names and cross-checked with footage until he found the most reasonable guy - David Howser, Chief of Staff to Ivory Tower’s Vice President Charlotte Davis. Fourth most powerful person in the building.

            And he killed Cynthia Baxter. Or at least, knows who did.

**DAWN – FRIDAY**

**U.S. ATTORNEY’S OFFICE**

**SAM LYNCH’S OFFICE**

Sam was exhausted. His office was a paper hurricane. All he wanted to do now was lay here on his couch and catch a couple hours of sleep before he had to sit back behind his desk and begin another day of work. Dawn was already breaking through his windows. He didn’t know how she did it, but Alyssa was still going strong.

“If the baby's blood type is A, and Amanda's is B, then the father has to be either type A or type AB.” She rattled off, holding the coroner’s report in her hand as she walked around the office. “We could subpoena Ivory Tower personnel files for the blood types-”

“Alyssa,” Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes, “we don't have enough to subpoena anyone for anything.”

“But we are so close!”

“We're not close. We have a suicide and a hunch.” He turned his head towards her and smiled sadly. “Go home. Get some sleep. Study for the bar. Go shoe shopping. Sorry I kept you up all night on a wild nothing.”

“Sam?” Alyssa called out softly.

“Yeah?”

“I'm not.” She picked up her shoes and squeezed his shoulder on her way out. “Good night.”

“Morning.”

**GREGORY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT**

“Hi. Uh, this is Gregory Williams with "The New York Sun." I'd like to speak to David Howser, Chief of Staff to V.P. Charlotte Davis, please.”

Gregory was bouncing around his apartment, walking in and out of rooms, back and forth. He couldn’t stay still long enough, he had to keep moving.

That is until he heard the voice on the other line of the phone.

“Oh, you answer your own phone….Cool. Uh, I'm calling to get a quote for a story I'm working on. Okay. Well, it's about your relationship with Cynthia Baxter.”

**TESSA REAGANS APARTMENT**

**LATER**

Michael stared idely out of Tessa’s window while she sat on the couch, watching him. They had been like that all night, standing and sitting, silently watching as night turned to day’s break.

“You need to get back home.” Tessa said quietly. Her own voice sounded like a stranger’s.

“Mm.” Michael mused, turning away from the window. He pulled back his sleeve to check the time. He nodded wordlessly, agreeing that it wouldn’t be right to walk back into the office wearing the same suit he wore the day before.

He walked over to the chair he had tossed his suit jacket on, and stopped. He took a moment to actually look around him and appreciate her apartment. When they were together, they were young and in college – moving from separate dorms to getting a place together. He’s never seen her style by itself, only combined with another’s.

“I've imagined your place a thousand times. I like it. It's very you.”

“Yeah.” Tessa stood up and smiled. “Living alone has its perks.”

Their walk to the door, shoulder to shoulder, was silent. He stood in front of the closed door, jacket in hand, gathering the strength to leave. He was struggling, torn between doing the right thing and going home to his wife or giving in to what he truly wanted and staying.

Tessa could see that, and part of her sympathized. Part of her was anger. And part of her was indifferent. But for now, he needed to leave before anyone saw him, while the world was still sleeping.

She took his suit jacket from his hand. He turned, curiously hopeful that she was chooing him, that she wanted him to stay. Instead, she opened the jacket and held it out for him to get into.

Michael nodded, understand. He did as she asked and turned away from her to put it on. When he did, he turned back to look at her one last time.

“Good-bye, Tess,” he whispered regretfully.

“Good-bye, Mr. O’Rourke.”  

**GREGORY WILLIAM’S APARTMENT**

            David Howser sat in Gregory’s living room, looking through the ‘evidence’ the juvenile report had uncovered. While he did, Gregory laid out his case.

“Cynthia Baxter worked at O’Rourke Enterprises and Holdings with you. There's pictures of the two of you, including several with her dog.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” David said sarcastically. “Can we just get right to the point here, Gregory? What are you saying exactly?”

“I think you had a relationship with Cynthia. I think you were her boyfriend.”

“Is that it? Is that your big discovery, that we were boyfriend and girlfriend?” David chuckled. He tossed the photos on the coffee table. “That we held hands? Went steady?”

“If I were the Chief of Staff of the V.P of the most powerful company in the nation, that's not something that I would want people to know, especially considering that she-”

“Morons.” David cut across Gregory with a sigh.

“What?”

“I'm surrounded by morons. _Huge_ , _clueless_ morons.”

“I've got a story here!”

“Yeah, _genius_ , you do, only it's the wrong one.” David stood up, rasing his voice to get his point across. “ _I'm_ not the story. _Michael O’Rourke’s_ the story. He is the one who slept with Cynthia Baxter. I was your source in the Ivory Tower. I sent you the pictures of Cynthia and O’Rourke and the stupid dog. I sent you the Tower logs. She visited him practically every day. Dear God, man, I did everything except draw you a picture of their stick figures doing it! All you had to do was put two and two together. What is it with people? Why are they so freaking _stupid_?! You, Cynthia. It was an easy script for both of you. _Big_ letters, _small_ words. You could- you could follow it in your sleep.”

“Oh, my God….” Gregory took a step back, floored by what he was hearing. “You sent her in to sleep with the him.”

“You call yourself a journalist?” David laughed darkly, all humor erased from his face. “You're a joke. You could have been the next Woodward and Bernstein and the best you can do is tell everyone that I had a relationship with a crazy dead girl? Good luck with that story.”

David grabbed his phone from the coffee table and headed for the door, shaking his head at the stupidity of the man in front of him.

“That's not all I came up with,” Gregory called out, stopping David before he could turn the knob on the door.

“You're an idiot. Whatever you say, I'll just deny it.” David waved his hand casually. “This conversation never happened.”

“According to the coroner's report, Cynthia was 13 weeks pregnant. I bet it's your baby.” This, however, stopped David cold with hand stretched out to the door. “I may be a joke, but ‘Dead Ivory Tower Intern Was Carrying V.P. Aide's Love Child’.

“That sure sounds like a story to me,” David muttered, turned furiously to Gregory.

“I even have a copy of the coroner's report if you want to see it. Gotta believe they can run a DNA match between you and a dead fetus. This conversation might be easy to deny, but that sure as hell wouldn't be, would it? Let me just see where I put that. I'll show you.”

Gregory turned his back to David to search around his desk for the reports.

A fatal mistake.

David grabbed a pair of scissors lying on the coffee table. IN one move, the scissors were hilt deep in the young reporter’s neck.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Character Death

**MEGAN MONTELL’S APARTMENT**

**FRIDAY MORNING**

            In the span of a couple minutes, the course of your life can change. You think your biggest problem is that you’re spreading the wrong type of cream cheese on your slightly blackened bagel. Cream cheese and burnt bagels.

Then you hear a noise. At first a faint hum, then a steady rise. Even though the walls are thin, you can’t make out what the muffled voices are saying. Not long after, there’s a shout then a loud thump that made your wall vibrate. Seconds pass.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You know something is wrong. You’re afraid. You finally hear a door open and shut again before panicked footsteps escape down the hallway. You still don’t move. You still don’t breathe. The cream cheese and burn bagel forgotten on their plate. Through the wall comes another noise, faint but very clear all the same:

Choking and gasping. Gentle sobbing. A strangled plea for help.

What should you do? What do you do?

Megan Montell’s quiet life was interrupted by the wrong cream cheese and a blackened bagel. She knew the life she carefully forged for herself would be ripped away from her the moment she decided to leave her apartment and investigate the noise beyond the wall.

Her feet carried her next door, the last apartment with its door facing the hallway. She vaguely knew who lived here. A reporter. She didn’t like reporters; too nosey and always up to no good. What was his name – Gavin? Garrett? He had brown hair with short curls, green eyes and as much of a tan as New York would allow this time of year.

The door was ajar an inch. Whoever had run out expected the door to close itself, but the lock didn’t catch. There was just enough of a crack that Megan could put her face next to it and peek in. She didn’t want to go in unless something was wrong.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary as far as she could tell. Her neighbor – Grayson? – kept a clean place. She was about to turn and leave she movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. To her left on the floor, in front of the coffee table, were a pair of bare feet. One was twitching unsettlingly while the other remained still.

Something was very wrong.

Megan slowly pushed open the apartment door with the back of her hand. She walked in slowly, keeping her eyes on the twitching foot. Her gaze slowly traveled up the farther into the small room she went. Bare feet, green and blue plaid sleeping bottoms, grey shirt….soaked in blood around the collar. A long pair of scissors was embedded into the base of his neck where his right should met. Fast moving streams of blood bubbled from the wound and spilled down his neck.

Her neighbor lay gently twitching on the hardwood floor, his right hand laying on his side while his left extended outward towards the black cell phone underneath the coffee table. Dark blood splattered his all too white face; the growing pool of blood underneath his head matted his brown curls.

His half-glazed green eyes sought her frightened brown eyes. He clumsily lifted his left hand trying to grab the scissors. He dropped it back heavily to the floor.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Megan kept muttering under her breath as she rushed to his side and knelt behind him. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

He kept grunting, trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t understand him. When he moved, he groaned painfully and his breath came out as labored hisses through clenched teeth. He kept motioning to the scissors until she understood what he wanted her to do.

Pull it out.

“Oh, God. Oh….” She whimpered. She clutched his right shoulder in one hand and the scissors in her other. She hadn’t realized she was trembling until she realized she was wiggling the scissors in his neck. She screwed her eyes close.

She couldn’t do this if she was looking. With tremendous effort, she gripped the handle and pulled out. She heard a faint click and felt a warm liquid spurt onto her. When she opened her eyes, she saw she had only made the problem worse.

Blood was flooding out of his wound, coursing freely down his neck, into his gaping mouth, and onto the floor. His wide eyes were growing slack and even his twitching was becoming more infrequent.

“Shit!” She yelled. She stuck two fingers in his wound in hope it would staunch the bleeding. While she hysterically babbled, she frantically looked around for a cloth to press agains this neck. “Oh, god. Ohh. Oh, g-- You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine.”

She remembered his cell phone underneath the coffee table. He had been reaching for it when she came in. Glancing down at her fingers buried to the knuckle in his neck, she knew she couldn’t remove them, even for a moment. If she did, he died. If she didn’t get to that cell phone, he died.

“You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. You're--you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. I'm gonna get help. Hold on. Just hold on.” Keeping her fingers inside him, she streatched over him as much as she could towards his phone. Her knees where slipping in his blood pool. Half her body was rolling in it, covering herself in it. “Hold on. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be-”

But it was too late. He had gone still underneath her, his hand falling pathetically limp from his chest to the ground. His green horrorstruck eyes remained open and empty. Although his warm, thick blood was still pouring out of him and onto her, he was beyond saving.

All she could do was pull back to kneeling beside him, her two fingers still corking his wound. She was beginning to tremble, her breath coming out unsteadily and panting for more air. His name was Gregory….something.

His name was Gregory. His name was _Gregory_. _His name was Gregory_.


	15. Chapter 15

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES AND HOLDINGS, INC.**

**DAVID HOWSER’S OFFICE – FRIDAY MORNING**

          David Howser was walking absentmindedly through the familiar hallways to his office. He saw faces go by, cheerful and smiling, some waved while others spoke. He didn’t acknowledge them. Behind him, he barely heard what his aid was telling him. His ears felt so underwater that she voice was barely a fractured hum in the background.

“You have a 9:30 with the legislative affairs team to discuss the Gulf Coast Initiative. The advance briefing is on your desk, and then at 10:00, Mrs. Daivs would like you to join her for the prayer breakfast, and then—“

He shut the heavy door on her as soon as he entered. He was grateful his feet had waited to give out on him until he was able to stumble to his desk. He sat down heavily. His mind was racing. His thoughts were scattered and despondent. He placed his head in his hands, his fingers tightly gripping tufts of hair. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh.

His hands shook. He held them out in front of him, hovering over the desk. He tried inhaling deeply, holding it for a couple seconds, then exhaling. He remembered his father’s anger management classes from his childhood. He kept trying to calm himself down for the next couple minutes but it wasn’t work. He kept shaking.

Thinking of nothing else, he turned to his computer and began typing. This was his last chance. How did this happen? How could it have all fallen apart?

 **GEGORY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT** :

            Megan Montell stood in her blood soaked Disney p.js behind Gregory Williams’ couch. Her whole body shook, her hands more so. They were hanging limp by her sides; in one was Gregory’s blackberry. Sobs hiccupped in her chest, but she wouldn’t open her mouth to let any out. She was too afraid she’d start screaming.

There was a brief knock on the door before someone entered. She didn’t look to see who it was. She knew who it was. Megan couldn’t take her eyes off of Gregory’s. They were still open, starring back at her.

“Megan?” A voice so soft and gentle washed over Megan. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from her dead neighbors to look at her savior.

She was as startlingly beautiful as always – cream colored cashmere trench coat that tied around her waist and stopped above her knees. She wore white heels and pearls in her ears that complimented the coat. Her chiseled features were fine and delicate that would captivate you if her vibrant blue eyes hadn’t done so already. Her chestnut hair was pulled away from her face and twisted into a clip. The only color in her ensemble of white was her crimson red lips and the wind-chaffed flush on her cheeks.

“Thank yo- thank you for c-coming.” Megan’s words blurred together with how much she shook and gasping with every word. The panic in her voice rising as Theresa Reagan shut the door and walked further into the apartment. “I-I didn't know w-what to do-o. I-I'm s-sorry. I-I didn't k-know. I-I'm sorry. I w-was gonn-na c-c-call 9-1-1. A-And and then h-he-”

Tessa stopped when she was Gregory lying on the floor, very much dead with smeared pools of blood around him. She held up her hand for the frantic girl to stop talking. She continued to speak gently to the panicked girl, but with an undercurrent of authority that kept her attention.

“Megan, who else have you called?”

“You! Jus-st you. You-you said to call i-if anything….” Her words cut off as a ragged breath tore through her body. She whimpered, her eyes squinting and filling with tears. She strangled a cry in her throat. “We sh-should call the-the-the police. We-we should. The pa-police have to be ca-called.”

“Megan, sweetie, we can't call the police.” Tessa tried to keep her voice as calm as possible.

“Why, why, why, why, why?” She babbled hysterically. Megan unconsciously brushed the back of her hand across her cheek to swipe away a tear, instead left blood. “He’s dead. When someone's dead, you call the police. _You call the police_!”

“You and I both know why we can't call the police,” Tessa tore her eyes away from the reporter’s corpse and quickly walked over to Megan. She was careful to avoid anything bloody. “Because if we call the police, they'll find out who you really are.”

Whatever resolve Megan had left broke. Her whimpering turned into muffled cries; all she could do was clamp her bloodied hands over her mouth to keep them from escaping. She collapsed to her knees and cried.

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES AND HOLDINGS, INC.**

**MICHAEL’S OFFICE**

          Michael O’Rourke briefly looked up from a report he was reading to glance at the man entering his office. “Chris.”

Christopher Neilson, without preamble, walked over to the large mahogany desk and sat down in an arm chair pulled up beside the desk. “Gabe wants to adopt a baby. Ethiopian, preferably.”

“That's good,” Michael muttered, still focusing on the reports in front of him.

“It is. It is good,” Chris nodded. He stared out the floor-length glass behind Michael, out at the city he loved, while he rambled on. “But I've been fighting him on it, been making all sorts of excuses about why it's not a good idea. We’re not a young men. We work crazy hours. Once you have a kid, your life's no longer your own. Yada, yada. The usual suspects. The whole thing _was_ off the table,” Chris paused, shifting his gaze back to Michael, and his tone dropping from casual to annoyed, “at least until last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yeah, last night. You remember last night? I went looking for you and found out that you were at your girlfriend's house.”

Michael sighed, tossing his pen on the desk and leaning back in his desk chair. “Here it comes. Christopher the Holy.”

“You tell me to go to war with Theresa Reagan, then you spend the night with her. Are you out of your _mind_?! What did you do, throw pebbles at her window? Hide under her bed while the Commissioner came by her room, said good night?”

“All right. That's enough.” Michael stood up and walked around his desk. His tone was more tiredly annoyed than angry and Christopher’s furry. “Get out of my office.”

“What you did last night was _stupid_ and _reckless_! You want to know what I gave up to build your company, what I've done for you, the ends that I've gone to? If you had any idea-”

“I am so _sick_ of you saying you PUT me in my own company!” Michael lashed out. “I got _myself_ here. I built _myself_ this company.”

“You were a flyboy with a good head of hair and a pushy dad.”

“I'm sorry if the girl you mentored, the girl you brought in to save the day, _your girl_ , fell in love with me. That must really eat at you, Chris.”

“You don't deserve this company.”

“And yet here I am!” Michael shouted, spreading his arms out.

There was a brief knock on the door before Veronica Gadd walked in. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. O’Rourke, Mr. Neilson.” She nodded to each of them in turn before handing a blue folder to Michael. “It's the cult situation in Georgia that P.R wanted you to keep tabs on.”

“What’s going on?” Michael asked as he flipped through the folder.

“At 9:30 this morning, gunfire erupted outside the Heaven's Rapture compound in Hacklene, Georgia. Three ATF agents were wounded, though PR can confirm that they're now in stable condition.”

“We’re monitoring this because….”

“Because we _publically_ and heavily back the President on anything gun-control.” Chris sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Their yelling match needed to be settled, but for now the day was looking grim outside of the walls of the Ivory Tower as well.

**GREGORY WILLIAMS’ APARTMENT**

          “She's our client,” Tessa was reminding her team in a hushed voice as they stood in a circle just off the living room. Megan was still on the floor from where crumpled; she was silent now except for the occasional hiccup and ragged gasp.

“We don’t know her,” Gabriel Short shook his head. He removed his thick black glasses to briefly clean them with his tie.

“And now she's our client.”

“There is a dead reporter on the floor,” Donna Martin pointed out the obvious. She did her best to keep her back to the awful scene. Although Tessa ‘recommended’ she get close to Gregory to glean any information from him, she had to admit she kind of liked the guy. And she wasn’t afraid to admit she wasn’t as strong as Tessa was; she could stand casually around the corpse of a man she’d known.

Donna shifted uncomfortably on her feet, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “Can we have this conversation someplace else?”

“I don't know why we're not calling it in.” Gabe pulled out his cell phone from his inside suit pocket. “I'll dial 9-1-1 right now.”

Tessa laid her hand on Gabe’s phone screen. “We can't do that.”

“Why not?”

Out of the corner or her eye, Tessa glimpsed Megan attempting to stand. Her hands and legs were still slick with fresh blood so she was having a hard time of it. It was when the girl reached out to stabilize herself on the back of the couch did Tessa move around her team to hold her hands out to Megan in a ‘stop’ motion.  

“I'm gonna have to ask you to not move!”

“Huh?” Megan’s red hand, dripping rhythmically, was still stretched out midway to the couch.  

“You're leaving a blood trail, hun.” Lyall spoke to her like she was a child, slow in the head and having a difficult time understanding basics. That wasn’t so far off, but not everyone possessed Lyall’s knowledge of forensic counter-measures and clean up.

Megan nodded, jerking her head in understanding. She looked around her, dazed, at the mess she had made from the body to her spot on the floor.

Tessa turned back to her team and resumed her hushed voice. “If we call the police, there's gonna be a problem for Megan.”

“What problem?” Donna asked sarcastically, sparing a quick glance behind her. She met Gregory’s empty eyes. She turned back to Tessa, this time keeping her eyes on the floor or the wall. She couldn’t handle meeting anyone’s eyes just yet.

“She can't be photographed, booked, or fingerprinted in _any_ official capacity. She cannot be connected to the crime scene in any way.”

“Why not?” Gabe asked. His curiosity was rivaling that of his annoyance.

“Her name isn't actually Megan Montell.”

“Fucking perfect,” Gabe chuckled without humor. “Then who the hell is she?”

“She's our client,” Tessa repeated more forcefully. She paused for a moment to look each member in the eyes to drive that point home. “That's who she is. That's all I need to tell you. That's all you need to know. She's our client, and she needs our help.”

“What are we supposed to do, Theresa?” Donna asked skeptically. “She's _covered_ in blood. Her fingerprints are _everywhere_. How do you think we're getting her out of here?!”

It was silent for a moment while Gabe and Donna looked to Tessa for answers. In return, she looked to Lyall. He nodded in understanding. “I'm gonna want hands covered, then.”

“No way!” Gabe shouted at Lyall as the teenager bent down to retrieve a fresh packet of gloves from his field kit. Tessa shot him a dark look and he lowered his voice. “I am an Officer of the Court. So is Donna. So are you, Theresa.”

Donna sighed, placing one hand on her hip and the other on top of her head. She had done many an illegal thing during her time with Tessa, but never had she thought she would clean up a crime scene to protect a murderous client. Her head was spinning and becoming lighter. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to think.

“Okay, if we're doing this, we're destroying _all_ the evidence. You realize what this means, Tessa? Gregory is dead! The police need to be here!”

Gabe tried stepping around Tessa, but she blocked him. He glared at the bloody girl over Tessa’s shoulder, yelling, “Who are you?”

“No! Do not.” She lightly shoved Gabe back. “She's our client. We can't leave her here.”

“Okay,” Gabe kept close to Tessa, his face lowering to hers. “I'm gonna want you to say it, because once you say this, there's no going back…The police will never be able to find Gregory's killer. His murder _never gets solved_.”

Tessa held Gabe’s eyes. She knew the consequences all too well. But she had to do this, they all did. There was nothing more they could do for Gregory, not anymore. They had to protect Megan even if that meant the reporter’s case went cold. Before she gave her verdict, Tessa looked to her right to where Donna stood, wide and uncertain eye staring back at her.

“I’m sorry,” Tessa told her softly and watched as understanding dawned. She turned back to Gabe. We clean it. Her apartment next door, too. We’ll come back for that later; clothes, technology, everything.”

With that, Lyall handed out black gloves to the team. And directed them to where they needed to go and what they needed to do. If they were unsure about anything, the needed to ask him. He was running the show.

Gabe crouched down beside Gregory’s corpse to where the scissors lay, careful to keep his shoes away from any blood pooling on the carpet. “Take 'em or leave 'em?”

“Did you touch them?” Lyall asked Megan, pointing to the weapon.

“What?” Megan responded, her eyes were having trouble focusing on anything.  

“Did you touch the scissors?” Lyall asked again, slowly and with more force behind every word.

“I-I pulled them out of his neck,” she whispered, fresh tears rimming her eyes.

Lyall nodded and turned back to Gabe. “Take 'em.”

“What's happening?” Megan asked Donna as she walked past but was ignored.

“I found some clothes.” Donna called from the bedroom. She came back out with an armful – matching grey sweat bottoms and hoodie, blue long sleeve, socks, and moccasin bedroom slippers. “I think they'll fit her.”

Tessa walked around Megan and began unbuttoning the girl’s pajama top. “I'm gonna need you to change the clothes that you're wearing.” When Megan continued to stare at her, not understanding, Tessa grabbed her wrists and pulled them up to her chest. “Undress. Now.”

“There’s some research here about Cynthia Baxter.” Gabe shifted through the paperwork on the coffee table. “A laptop computer. We should take it.”

“Take it.” Lyall nodded. He opened his backpack and held it out to Gabe.

“W-What?” Megan stammered.

“Remove your clothes,” Tessa told her. When the girl was still unresponsive, she stepped in. She moved the girl’s arms out so they wouldn’t touch Tessa’s jacket. It also made it easier for her to undue the remaining buttons. While she worked the bloody clothes off of Megan, Lyall began his assessment of the corpse.

“Judging by lividity, he's been dead less than two hours.”

“Can someone—“

“Your clothes, they're covered in blood.” Donna cut her off. She yanked down Megan’s pants and the girl yelped. She not too gently grapsed Megan’s leg and lifted her feet so she could remove the pants. Donna had already bagged Megan’s slippers; she tossed the night shirt and pants in the bag as well.

Lyall tossed Tessa a bag of wet-wipes from his kit. She took out a couple and began wiping down Megan’s hands. It wasn’s perfect, but it got off enough blood to no longer make her noticeable. Her hands, however, still held a red tint. Megan tried to jerk out of Tessa’s grasp, but Tessa pulled back. “We cant have you spreading anymore DNA around. Hold still.”

“Put these on.” Donna tossed Megan the sweat bottoms and long sleeve shirt.

“I don't--I don't understand.” Megan kept muttering to herself as she fumbled with the clothing. Tessa helped her step into the sweats as Megan pulled the shirt over her head. She regained enough composure after feeling warm, clean clothes on her skin to look down. “These are—“

“Gregory's clothes. I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to wear them.” She placed the slippers beside Megan’s feet and gestured to the girl to slip into them. Tessa wiped Megan’s face and neck of blood spatter while the rest of the team cleaned the living room. Paperwork, technology, and such went into Lyall’s backpack; bagged items, such as the scissors, Megan’s clothing, and the wet-wipes Tessa used to clean the blood, went into the field kits. All that was left was the body itself.

They moved the furniture around the living room, leaving only the carpet with the corpse on it. Gabe and Lyall maneuvered Gregory carefully so that they could remove the rung from underneath him. From there, all they had left was to roll up the rug, duct tape it closed, and carry it out with them. Tessa rearranged the furniture back to its normal position. It wasn’t perfect, but it removed Megan from the scene and bought them a little more time with the police.

Tessa turned anxiously to Lyall who was surveying the scene. “We ready?”

“We're good.”

“We sure?”

He nodded. “We're good.

“What's happening?” Megan asked, louder and clearer than she had before. She was standing between Donna and Lyall, heading for the door.

“We're cleaning the scene. You were never here. Let's go.” Gabe growled at her, lifting one end of the rug while Donna grabbed the other.

“Wait!” Megan shouted.

“Do you know what we just did for you?!” Donna shouted back. “Do you know what's happening, what this could do to us?! We are not waiting!”

Tessa picked up the white landline Gregory kept on the end table next to the couch. She punched in the familiar numbers and waited as it connected.

“Hello. I'd like to report a murder.” Tessa calmly informed the operator. “290 Prospect Street, apartment 106.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” Lyall waved his hand and everyone stilled.

“I thought you said we were good.” Gabe snapped. “Let’s go.”

Lyall ignored him. “Did anybody get his cell phone? Reporters always have cell phone near them, even dead ones.”

“We don't need to—“

“We need it!”

“I already called the police.” Tessa said, looking around frantically for the device. “We have maybe eight minutes before they arrive on the scene.”

Lyall motioned for Tessa to toss him the landline. She did and he bagan dialing. “Donna, He's 202?”

“Yeah. 555-0196.”

“We're running out of time,” Gabe fussed as they waited for the ring. When it did, it came from Gregory’s pocket.

“I got it,” Lyall said, carefully moving towards the body. He tossed the landline back to Tessa to put on the hook before pickpocketing Gregory’s corpse. He shoved the cell into a bag and put it into his kit.

“Let’s go!” Lyall announced. “We’re good.”

“Thank God,” Gabe sighed. He and Donna hoisted the rug and walked it out of the apartment behind Lyall, who was carrying his book bag and field kit. Tessa was last, gently guiding Megan away from the scene. The girl couldn’t help but stare at Gregory, thinking of all the ‘what-ifs’ she could have done.

“There’s not time for that,” Tessa chided her softly. She pulled on Megan’s arm. “We have to leave.

Sirens wailing in the distance echoed in the silent apartment.

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

            The team stood around the conference table, various images and documents taking up the entire surface.

“All right.” Tessa said, breaking their silence. She turned her back on them to watch Megan through her office window. The girl was quite now, more calm than she had been in the apartment, sitting on the couch with a mug of tea in between her hands. Perhaps the numbing sensation of shock was kicking in. “Gregory Williams. What do we know?”

“The last couple of weeks, he's been working on a story about Cynthia Baxter.” Donna offered up.

“Obviously he got too close to something and got a pair of scissors in the neck for his trouble.” Gabriel finished. He didn’t notice Donna wince beside him.

“He figured out who sent her to sleep with O’Rourke.” Tessa nodded. She took a sip of her coffee.

“Somebody sent Cynthia in to sleep with O’Rourke?” Donna was looking from Gabriel to Tessa in stunned shock. “How do we know that part?”

“We just do.” Gabriel sighed. He rubbed his eyes as he sat down.

“But how do we just do?”

“I don't think it's important.” Gabe waved her off. “Let's move on.”

Derailing her train of thought further, Lyall came in with Gregory’s cell phone. He handed it to Tessa while giving the file folder of his findings to Gabriel. “Reporter made 28 phone calls last night, all New York city and state area codes. The last call was to the Ivory Tower switchboard.”

“So he was trying to call one of these people.” Donna caught onto something and searched around the table for Gregory’s slopping writing. “ _’Boyfriend lives in Logan Circle?_ ’” She passed the paper on and looked at Tessa quizzically. “Cynthia had a boyfriend?”

“Who apparently works at the Ivory Tower,” Tessa mussed. She turned back to Lyall, handing him the phone. “What about his laptop?”

“He was on it most of the night looking at video. It's gonna take me a few hours to go through it all.”

“Got it. Go.” She dismissed Lyall and turned to the remainders at the conference table. “Donna, call every number on that pad. Gabe, follow up on the addresses.”

“And what about the super-secret next door neighbor?” Donna asked, gesturing to Tessa’s office.

“She’s the client. Let’s do our job.”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES AND HOLDINGS, INC.**

**PRESS JUNCTION**

          Inaudible questions being launched at P.R. head Alec Norris by a crowd of reporters, seated around various table, all facing where Norris stood. Every now and then a flash from a photographer’s camera went off.

“Come on. Come on. Come on. Folks, please. Please. One at a time. It's been a long morning. Yes.”

In the back of the room, David stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. He leaned forward to whisper, “It's a crazy world we live in, Ted.”

Ted Haskett, a veteran correspondent with the New York Times, simply nodded in response. He kept his eyes on Norris and his pen posed over hit notepad.

David tapped Haskett’s shoulder to ensure he had the older man’s attention. When he turned to look over his shoulder, David smiled. “You're gonna want to get this next part loud and clear.”

As Norris continued to speak in support of the President and offering condolences to the ATF agents wounded in Georgia earlier today, David made his way to the front of the room through various photographers along the walls. Without warning or preamble, David walked up to Norris and tapped the man’s arm, signaling him to stop.

“David?” Norris whispered, glancing around him to make sure the reporters weren’t too keen on this unusual scene.  

“Sorry about your morning, Alec. It's about to get longer,” David whispered to Norris before gently moving him aside so David could take center stage. Not quite sure what to make of the development, Norris left the stage to stand beside his assistant.

“Good morning, everyone.” David nodded to the room of reporters and smiled. “My name is David Howser, and I've had the great honor to serve Ivory Tower’s Vice President Charlotte Davis as her chief of staff, so it is with deep sadness and regret that I will resign my position officially; effective immediately.” Murmmers erupted around the room and camera flashes became more frequent.

“Now I've prayed long and hard for a solution to the painful situation I find myself in,” David continued. “But …but I've come up short. Now the Bible tells us, ‘ _A false witness will not go unpunished. And he who pours out lies will perish’_. So I will take what little solace I can this morning by simply telling the truth. And the truth is this: I had an affair with an Ivory Tower aide named Cynthia Baxter.”

At that, reporters began calling out at once.  

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

          Tessa was sitting at the head of the conference table, her head in one hand and a list Gregory made in the other. “He had it narrowed down to 57 male employees.”

Megan came out of Tessa’s office, glancing back over her shoulder and gesturing with the sleeve of her oversized shirt. “He's on TV right now.”

“I want blood types on everyone.” Tessa continued over her. “If we cross-match them to the coroner’s report—“

“Find Cynthia's baby daddy, and Gregory's murderer.” Gabe finished her sentence.

“He's on TV right now-”

Donna whistled. “That’s a twofer.”

“Fucking listen!” Megan yelled, startling everyone in the room. She threw her arm back to point at Tessa’s office. “HE’S ON TV RIGHT NOW!”

**O’ROURKE ENTERPRISES AND HOLDINGS, INC.**

**PRESS JUNCTION**

          “Cynthia and I met on President Obama’s campaign trail two years ago. Uh, we fell in love, and when I learned that she was carrying our child, I planned to propose. So you can imagine my _shock_ and horror when I learned that the President and CEO of O’Rourke Enterprises and Holding, Michael Fitzgerald O’Rourke, was abusing his power and privilege to take sexual advantage of Ms. Baxter. When I learned that she killed herself only weeks after sleeping with Mr. O’Rourke and when I … when I found an explicit audiotape that Cynthia had made of her sexual encounter in the Ivory Tower with Mr. O’Rourke.”

He paused for a brief moment to allow his words to sink in. “If you have any questions, I'd be happy to take them.”

“Have you spoken to Ms. Baxter's family?” A reporter shouted out.  

“I haven't, but, uh, obviously, my thoughts and prayers are with them and have been all along.”

“Where did you find the tape?”

“What does it have on it exactly?”

David made a motion for the room to quite down. It did, only marginally, for another reporter to ask, “Did Cynthia Baxter tell you she was seeing President Obama’s closest advisor and biggest supporter, not to mention a man who allegedly runs back-door D.C. politics?”

“I don’t know about that last part, but Cynthia did tell me. Naturally, she was very upset about it.”

“Have you had a chance to talk with Mr. O’Rourke?” A reporter asked.

“No, I haven't. I-I don't think Michael O’Rourke cares to speak with me right now but uh, if he ever should, the doors always open.” He pointed to another reporter.

“How did you find Michael O’Rourke’s sex tape?”

“I discovered it among Cynthia's personal effects.”

“So, you've heard the tape yourself?”

“Unfortunately…yes.”  

“Look,” David motioned for the reporters to calm down. “When you hear the tape, and I-I can promise that you will, I think you will all agree that it is unmistakably Michael O’Rourke.”

In the back of the room, Chris skidded to a halt before colliding into a reporter standing by the door. As soon as David had taken the stage from Norris, Chris was out of his office and running through the halls to get to the press junket before something disastrous happened. Only, he was too late. Now he could only hope to contain and rebuild.

“Do you feel the public has a right to hear what's on that tape?” A reporter shouted out as Norris found his way to Chris at the back of the room. It took all Chris’s composure not to strangle the man in front of him; instead, he pulling Norris in close by his elbow and whispered furiously in his ear,

“You get him down! I don't care how you do it. Why is he still talking?”

“All due respect, sir, we need to consider the optics here.”

“Oh, no.” Chris pulled back and singled to one of the guards by the door. “Get him down. Now.”

The guard nodded and went off towards the stage, speaking into the small microphone attached to his tie.

“Forcibly removing the company’s Vice President's Chief of Staff from the press podium is just gonna legitimize-”

“I want him down _now_.” Chris growled.

“Whatever this—“

“Now! _Now_!”

As two security guards dressed in black suits took the stage, David said his final piece, “Everyone, it looks like that's all the time I have,” and walked calmly off the stage.

**TESSA REAGAN AND ASSOCIATES**

          “ _And it was just minutes ago,”_ one of the many TV anchors announced, “ _former Chief of Staff to O’Rourke Enterprises and Holdings Vice President, David Howser, leveled some truly shocking charges against President and CEO Michael O’Rourke._ ”

The TV cut to footage of David’s impromptu press conference. “ _The President and CEO of O’Rourke Enterprises and Holding, Michael Fitzgerald O’Rourke, was abusing his power and privilege to take sexual advantage of Ms. Baxter”_

Tessa could feel her employees looking to her for answers, for what to do next, but even she didn’t know. For once, she was out of moves. She needed reinforcements.


End file.
